Freedom to Love, Freedom to Live
by FantasyBard
Summary: It is said that lve is able to overcome anything. When two lovers,cruelly seperated after many long years, are suddenly thrown back together, what will fate have in store for them. A Tristan/OC story
1. Prolouge

Okay, a few things to say before this story gets underway. This is technically a Tristrn/OC story, but it also is my version of the Tristran and Isolde legend. I don't want to give away too much, but just keep in mind that Anaria is actually Isolde.

I really am not going to worry about trying to make this historically accurate. The movie itself was a bit questionable in that department anyway, but i don't really care. It is a movie after all, and this is fan fiction.

I have used the spelling Tristran throughout the story, because that is how it is written in the novelization of the movie and because I simply like it better.

Lastly, this story is rated T for battle sequences, dark, depressing stuff and a scene of sensuality.

Now if everyone is still with me after that long intro, here is the story. Be sure to remember to review.

Prologue:

_Love is not love_

_Which alters when it alteration finds_

_Or bends with the remover to remove._

_O, no, it is an ever fixed mark_

_That… is never shaken._

_Love's not time's fool…_

_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks_

_But bears it out even to the edge of doom._

Sonnet 116

William Shakespeare

Love. It is said that love is timeless and ageless. It can overcome any obstacle or barrier; it can even conquer time, time which can conquer and destroy many things. But if love be strong enough, it stands unshaken, through years, through decades, through centuries.

This is the story of love, of love overcoming time. There is much else in the story, of course; courage, honor, loyalty, freedom. But, above all else, it is the tale of a love that was so strong that it endured time's ravages and lived on to become a legend.

There is a myth, over 1600 years old, which tells of the romance between a knight of the round table and a noble lady. There are many version of the story, all of them told in the realm of fairy tales and poetry. But no matter how different or similar the version, they always agree on one thing: that the story of Tristran and Isolde is just that: a story.

But this is where so many have been mistaken, for the story is true one and the truth of tale is more gritty and real than any of the legends would lead us to believe. For, instead of potions and spells, love comes from the heart.

The story itself also takes place in a much earlier time, when violence was a way of life and very few enjoyed the freedom to live their lives as they chose. This time is known as the Dark Ages. The main players that have become so well known are also far more different. The knight who claimed the heart of the lady was hardly the knights in shining armor as we have been led to believe and the lady was not at all what she first appeared to be.

His name was Tristran. He was a knight who hailed originally from Sarmatia who was forced into the Roman military when he was just a boy, forced to pay his part in a pact that he never made but which had been fulfilled by generations of men before him.

Her Roman name was Isolde, and Isolde is the name that she is remembered by. But there was also the name that came from her Woad heritage, Anaria. She was born in one heritage, but she grew up in a completely different culture. She was of two worlds, and she struggled to know just who exactly she was meant to be.

When these two first met, an instant attraction sparked between them. And from that attraction bloomed a deep, passionate, and unyielding love, and it would be such a love that would prove to be their ultimate undoing.

But that story you already know and will learn more of in the narrative that I am about to tell you.

The tale you are about to hear is the true story of two people who endured nearly unendurable pain, separation, and despair, of how the loyalty and bravery of a few people to one person can change the course of a nation and of history. But, above all, this is the story of how the greatest love that was ever known conquered time and became a legend.


	2. Anaria

Anaria:

Anaria:

Pain. Her whole world was nothing but pain. She felt the strokes of the whip beat against her back again and again; it felt as if there were shards of glass and brick together with the usual straps of leather, causing her senses to scream in agony.

And she could hear him, struggling against the arms of his restrainers. He was screaming her name, screaming that he would kill all of them, kill them without a second thought. They were nothing but cowards.

She could hear him, but she couldn't see him, for her eyes were covered by a red mist. All she could make out was dark moving shapes as well as the roiling flames of fire.

They had stopped now. She felt herself falling heavily to the ground. Her body was awash with pain, but there wasn't anything she could do to stop it. A voice, cold and reptilian, was speaking above her. She couldn't understand what he was saying, but she was beyond caring.

Now, they were heaving her up, dragging her across the rough floor. Would it never end? Would they never be finished with her?

Suddenly all sensations fled from her body, except for one thing: heat, searing, agonizing heat. It was most intense at her hands, but it seemed to spread up through her limbs, incinerating her synapses and turning her life's blood into flame.

She had not screamed until that moment, and even when she did scream, it sounded strange, far away and faint, not like her voice at all.

And even that cry was not enough to stop her from hearing what rose from his own lips, as he roared with all the savage ferocity of a wounded beast. _NO!!_

The next thing she knew, someone had her by the shoulder and was shaking her. "Anaria. Anaria."

It was than that the dream rolled away. Her eyes snapped open and she sat straight up. She was panting and drenched with sweat. For a split-second, she couldn't remember where she was. But than she felt the bite of the wind, heard the soft gurgling of the river, and allowed herself to relax, if only a little. She was in a safe place.

"Anaria?"

She turned, startled by the voice. It was Merlin, the leader of the Woads and also Anaria's uncle.

"Merlin?" she gasped, her voice hoarse.

"Are you all right?"

"I… I hardly know." Anaria replied, "How did you know I was…?"

"Eight years I have known you, my niece, I know much about you. There is only one dream that causes you to run as if you are being pursued by a demon. You never scream, you know. You just run, run and never stop."

Anaria smiled, tiredly. "You low me far to well."

Merlin was kind enough to not to talk no further of it. He did not need to ask what the dream was about; he already knew. Anaria had had that same dream before, and it would have done no good to even attempt to talk about it. Anaria didn't talk about the past; she didn't even try to remember it. For to her, the past was dead.

Merlin handed her a flask of water. She took it gratefully and drank deeply from it. Once she had finished, she looked around her at the camp, which was slowly starting to come to life in the predawn light. Some were gathering around the fires, which were carefully tended to prevent any smoke from drifting out over the trees, which would betray their position to potential enemies. Others seemed to be returning from getting water from the nearby river. Still others were on watch at the perimeter of the camp. Regardless of what duty they were performing, all of the inhabitants of the camp were armed, on the alert and ready for action, and for good reason; they were Woads.

These were her people, named after the distinctive dye which they used to blend into the forest. The Woads were native Britons, native t the forest and the earth. They fought against the Romans who had been occupying Britain for longer than even the oldest among them could remember. They had not yet been able to drive out the Romans completely, but they had held on long enough to keep the northern half of Britain for themselves. However, most of the land was still held by the Romans, to the south of the great Hadrian's Wall. Ordinarily there was enough activity in the north to keep the Woads occupied. Hadrian's Wall was to strong and the Woads were not enough to breach its defenses and retake the lands that rightfully belonged to them. They could only manage sporadic attacks beyond Hadrian's Wall. This was one such time. They were a group of almost sixty, lying in wait within the shelter of the trees along the main road which led to Camalann (AN If there really was a Camelot, one of the possible names for the city could very well have been Camanlann, so that's the name I am using for the main fort of the movie), a main fort located along the Wall. Merlin's spies had reported word of precious cargo passing along this route. The report had not specified what kind of precious cargo, but Merlin considered the report worth acting upon.

Anaria was one among this number, and with good reason. Ever since her cousin's mysterious disappearance, she had saved as Merlin's second-in-command. It had been her duty to come, and one had only to look at Anaria to see that it was a duty that she was quite capable of accomplishing.

She was not tall, nor was she short, seeming to settle in a comfortable middle ground between the two extremes. Her long, chestnut hair was loose about her shoulders, but would soon be braided back in preparation for battle. Her eyes were deep, liquid pools of brown. Her body, though neither thin nor willowy, was muscular and fit. She might have been called beautiful once, but there was something about her that could make the word not seem quite right. Perhaps it was the mechanical grace with which she moved or the slightly distracted manner with which she went through every day life. Or it could have been the look in her eyes that made her look as if she had lost a part of her soul. The woman that so many saw now was a mere shadow of who she had once been.

"Has there been any news since last night?" she asked.

"The caravan we have been watching stopped for the night not five miles from here. An hour ago I received word that they have started moving again."

"Do we know what we're after yet?"

"It is not what, it is who. A bishop from Rome."

Anaria snorted in derision and no small amount of contempt. "Why, in the name of the gods, would a pampered bishop leave the so-called paradise of Rome to come to this island?"

"That is what we must find out, which is why we're going to take the bishop if at all possible."

Anaria nodded. "What guard is he under?"

"A few dozen legionaries; nothing that our people cannot handle. At least, under normal circumstances."

Anaria looked at her uncle with raised eyebrows. "Ordinary Circumstances?"

"One of my spies saw a messenger leaving the camp on horseback. He was traveling to fast to be stopped. My guess is that he was sent to the Wall. It is possible that Arthur and his knights have been called on to back up the Roman troops."

When Anaria a heard the words "Arthur and his knights" she stiffened and stared at Merlin, any sign of sarcasm gone from her face. "Arthur and his knights? You think so?

Merlin nodded, his face strangely understanding. "I do not normally ask you to face your past in this way, Anaria. I know how difficult it is for you, but I need you to fight this battle. Your presence is needed to provide leadership. I can no longer fight these battles, but you can."

Anaria swallowed hard, putting a brave face over her suddenly roiling emotions. "I'm, surprised that you have to even ask, Merlin. You know that I would do anything to get the Romans off this island, so that our people can once again be free. I will do whatever you ask, gladly."

Merlin put a hand on her shoulder and said no more about it." They will pass this way in two hours' time; Get some food, and keep on the alert."

"Thank you, Merlin." said Anaria, as Merlin moved off to make his rounds of the rest of the camp, giving advice and encouragement to the rest of the Woads in preparation for the upcoming skirmish.

And, in truth, Anaria suspected that a skirmish was all that she and her limited number would be able to accomplish. With just the Roman troops to contend with, they might have achieved their goal, but if Arthur and his knights came into the equation… she did not want to think about what might happen.

It is strange how one train of thought can lead to one specific memory. The very idea of Arthur and his knights brought back a rush of unpleasant memories, for she had loved one of Arthur's knights, a love that had been so strong, that it had, one point, been all that mattered in her life.

But that part of her was dead, she had left it behind long ago, and if there was one thing that she had learned, it was that nothing, neither tears nor wishing could change the past. It was better to just forget and move on.

But, it was not as simple as she might have wished. Reminders like her dream constantly were at the back of her mind and try as she might, she could never fill that complete and utter emptiness that was where her heart should have been. The past was not as dead within her as she would have liked it to be.

But, there were ore important things to worry about at the moment. She had to concentrate on the upcoming encounter with the Romans and possibly more challenging opponents. And so, Anaria buried her emotions, as she has done so many times before and forced herself to focus on the present moment. For, even if everything else had been taken from her, the freedom of her people was a cause that she knew she could fight for.


	3. Tristran

Tristran:

Tristran:

Britain's plains were thrumming with the noise of low thunder. The thunder came not from a storm, but from the pounding hooves of seven impressive horses, that ranged in every color from coal black to snowy white. The flanks of the great beasts heaved as they took in air, every movement a study is grace, hooves blending in a seamless harmony of pure power.

Such a sight would have been fearsome enough, for there could be no mistaking that this was a group of war horses. Their riders, however, certainly did nothing to detract from that alternatively threatening or impressive image. This group of men was all different in appearance; one might have called them rough and unpolished, but to take them just for a group of motley ruffians would have been the last mistake a person would have ever made, for these were Arthur's knights.

Arthur and his knights. An elite fighting group of Sarmation men, a deadly and effective fighting force, under the command of a man who was one of the best commanders that Rome had ever trained. Arthur's knights were the Calvary of the Roman army in Britain. Stationed in Camalann, the most centered city along Hadrian's Wall, they were but a few days' ride to any place in the south off Britain where their special type of service was needed.

But, this mission would not take them so far, nor, hopefully would it end with one or more of their number going back to Hadrian's Wall a corpse. That wish, of course, was always there, but today it was especially fervent in the minds of all the knights. For this was no ordinary mission. In fact, this was the last mission that they would be taking on behalf of Rome.

Arthur had gotten a message earlier that morning. It said that a Bishop Germanous was on his way to the Wall and that he bore the discharge papers for the knights who had been serving in the military for the past fifteen years. That was the only thing that all these men had in common: they were all from Sarmatia and they were little more than slaves.

Nearly thee centuries before they had been born, the Romans had defeated and conquered the powerful eastern nation of Sarmatia, in a bloody battle that had lasted nearly four days. When at last the smoke had cleared, the only Sarmations still alive were members of the decimated but legendary Calvary. The Romans were impressed by the bravery and exceptional horsemanship they saw in these warriors, and so, they spared their lives and those of their families. But they had wanted something in return, and that was the very things for which they had been spared in the first place. Rome wanted their bravery, their horsemanship and weapons' skills, and ultimately, their service.

Incorporated into the Roman army as knights, the few survivors were carted off to the farthest corners of the empire, where escape would be impossible. And this bargain would not only indebt themselves to Roman servitude, but their own sons, and the sons of those sons and so on would face the same fate. By the time the Sarmations had realize that they had exchanged life for slavery, they was nothing that they could have done to change it.

And so it had gone, year by year, generation to generation, until it had brought these seven knights t this place and time, racing across the plains of Briton. They had once been forty, now they were only seven.

But today was the time to brood about such past misfortunes. The knights were in better humor than they had been for a long time, evidenced by the way their urged their mounts to swifter speeds, and the animals, clearly feeling the elation of their riders, were only to happy to obey.

The loose group riders finally slowed to a stop on small bluff overlooking on of the Roman roads. Below them, an orderly line of Roman soldiers, some a foot and some on horseback, were light formation around an ornate carriage that moved laboriously across the road.

Despite the fact that the carriage's occupant was a Christian and the knights had already made up their minds to dislike him before they even met him, the carriage was nonetheless a welcome sight.

"Ah, as promised, the Bishop's carriage." said Gawain, a man with long, blonde hair, clear blue eyes and the noble bearing of a lion.

Galahad, the youngest of the knights and the most hot-tempered, turned to one of his companions and said, "Our freedom, Bors." He had made no attempt to hide his enthusiasm.

Bors, a veteran of the knights, heavy-set and muscular, smiled as he replied, "I can almost taste it."

"Your passage to Rome, Arthur." remarked Gawain to their commander.

Arthur made no reply; he was not a man to waste words. Of medium height and build with dark black hair and green eyes that held the long years of wisdom and strength which had made him such an honorable leader. He was undoubtedly the leader of the knights, the one Roman whom they all obeyed without question and died for without a second thought.

Beside him was his second-in-command and his best friend, Lancelot. Lancelot had known Arthur the longest of any of them and the friendship that the two shared was deep. However, while Arthur was unquestionably the leader of the knights, there could be no doubt that Lancelot was the better looking of the two of them. Tall, with dark hair and bright brown eyes, Lancelot was fated to be eyed by every female that he came into contact with, and far from being averse to such attention, he went out of his way to encourage it.

The last two of the seven knights who remained silent during this whole exchange were certainly not inconspicuous by their silence.

Dagonet was tall, broad-shouldered and tougher than leather. He cold go through entire battles unscathed, not to mention wield weapons that no other man would have been capable of even lifting. However, he was also surprisingly gentle and had a heart of gold. He was unfailingly loyal to Arthur and possessed a high code of honor that he strove at all times to adhere too.

The last of this group bore special mentioning. For, you see, even those who had not spoken yet viewed the sight of the carriage with excitement and anticipation of their impending freedom. Yet, he showed no emotion whatsoever as he watched the approaching carriage.

His name was Tristran. He was tall, well-built and strong. His shoulder-length dark hair seemed to be perpetually falling into his face, except for a few well-placed braids that did little to keep it under control. His face was graceful, accentuated by two blue tattoos on either side of his high-set cheekbones. His eyes were by far the most memorable things of his face. Deep as the ocean and dark as a moonless night, those eyes saw everything with a piercing intensity that was uncanny. Tristran could hear, see, and sense things that other people couldn't sense. As he was Arthur's scout, these qualities served him well, not to mention his unmatched skill with a bow and arrow. But, despite all this, or perhaps because of it, Tristran was a loner among the knights. All the other knights were close friends and considered each other brothers. Tristran, though he may have shared that sentiment of brotherhood among the men he had fought beside for so long, had no close relationships with any of the other knights. The only one who he had been closest to was Sagramore, his brother, and he had died little less than a year before. He kept to himself, was quiet and spent most of his time observing everything around him that stare all-seeing stare of his that even the knights found slightly disturbing.

There was no denying that Tristran was something of an enigma to the other knights. But they all respected him, as they respected each other. Indeed, one would have to have been a fool with no thought of his own life if he treated Tristran with anything less. For Tristran was a lone wolf, silent, quick and, above all, deadly. In battle, he gave no quarter and none of his victims ever were left alive.

Now, as he watched with the others the advance of the carriage that contained the bishop, he had to admit deep within himself that he felt no elation at the prospect of freedom; relief to be sure of being at last free of the Romans whom he hated so much (Arthur excepted). But unlike the other knights, who had been making plans for the last fifteen years of what they would do when they were at last free, he had no such plans. He had never given much thought to tomorrow. But besides that, there was another, deeper reason and that was that he made no plans for the future because he had no reason to do so. He had nothing, because the Romans had stolen or destroyed it long ago.

Roman enslavement had taken his freedom and slaughtered his family, Roman service had taken his brother's life, Roman intolerance and cruelty had taken her away from him, the only woman he had ever loved and whose name was still enough to bring a physical ache to his soul. He couldn't forget the past, nor could he let go of it. It haunted him at every turn; its pain was his constant companion. With such a life, why even bother attempting to make plans for the future.

But such things were so ingrained in his life that they were as natural to him as breathing. And because that was so, his keen senses were still able to detect the nearly imperceptible. And this time, his senses would be the first to smell trouble.

He first started suspecting something when most other people would have dismissed the signs. The trees that bordered the road seemed to be moving opposite to the wind. And than there were the strange shadows that darted in between the tress, shadows that shouldn't have been there in the first place. Tristran felt his mind warning him of something dire in the works. This was not natural. It was almost as if the trees and shadows had taken on lives of their own and had begun to move independently to the forces of nature.

And though from this distance, even Tristran could not be sure, but those shadows vaguely resembled humans, only they appeared to be painted blue. Tristran needed to see no more. There was diner in that forest, a danger called the Woads. Yes, that was the only explanation to the trees, the shadows and the blue shapes that moved like phantoms between the two. The fool Romans were walking straight into an ambush.

But, before he could warn Arthur of the impending danger, a scream broke the silence. Down below them, a Roman solider fell from his horse, his chest pierced by an arrow fired by an unseen enemy.

The next instant, the first became alive with yelling Woads. They swarmed down from the tress and splashed across the river, bearing down on the hapless Romans like a mob of locusts. The Romans, caught completely by surprise, were clearly unable to handle the threat.

"Woads!" shouted Tristran to Arthur in warning.

Arthur needed to give his men no command to go forward. When he spurred his horse into a gallop, he was closely followed by his knights as they charged across the plains and into the fray.


	4. Conflict

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own characters and circumstances.

AN: I have been having a little trouble remembering all the steps that go into posting stories on , but I think that i have finally figured out how to do it. Thanks for bearing with me and thanks for reading. I hope that everyone is enjoying.

One last thing, Erim is the name of Tristran's horse. We'll learn the name of his hawk in the next chapter.

Conflict:

The battle was on. Rome against Woad, native against occupier. The Romans may have outnumbered the Woads, but what the Woads lacked in numbers, they made up for with things that the Romans couldn't possibly imagine: strategy, endurance and an overwhelming pride in their homeland that drove them to take the risk of dying for what they believed in.

Arrows were flying in from the trees, the Woads attack from the ground so relentless that the Romans, unused to such savage tactics, could do little to circumvent the attack.

Amidst the fray of men dying and screaming horses, was Anaria, who fought with the same skill and courage as any of her countrymen. Though she took no pleasure in battle, she had decided long ago that she wouldn't carry with her feelings of guilt for the lives she had taken. In war, one could not shy from shedding blood and killing to survive. She had learned to shut down that part of herself, so her mind could be devoted completely to the battle.

Merlin, with his usual foresight, had placed her with the fighters who would be attacking the little caravan directly. Se was a fair enough archer, and preferred to pick off enemies from the trees than engage in direct conflict, but in the absence of her cousin, Merlin had said that he would need her leadership on the battlefield. Be it archery or sword to sword however, Anaria would be able to handle both with equal ease.

The battle went by in a blur as it always did. The next clear thing she remembered after charging over the top of the riverbank was becoming locked in a fight with an unusually accomplished swordsman, who was proving to be a challenge for her. She had to employ all her skills to keep him at bay.

She noted with satisfaction, though, that he seemed to be as having a difficult time as she was, and unlike her, he was letting her frustration show. She ducked and weaved out of his sword strokes, using her superior speed and dexterity to throw him off. The Roman might as well have been like trying to kill a puff of wind.

Finally, fed up with her light-footedness, he shouted, "Stand still and fight like a man if you've got it in you, you little whore."

He took a wild swing at her head, but she ducked, rolled and stabbed upwards blindly. She heard a squelch and felt the sword connect with flesh. Chancing a glance up, she saw that her lucky strike had landed in her opponent's stomach. There was a dumbfounded expression on his face, as if he couldn't believe that he had been bested by a woman. Pulling the sword from his body, she spat coldly, "Take your arrogance with you to the grave, Roman."

She didn't even see him fall, because the next instant she whirled and took the head off another Roman who had been sneaking up behind her, trying taking advantage of her distraction and dispatch her while her back was turned. Instead, he fell victim to his own trap.

Anaria stared for a moment at the bodies of the two dead Romans, "Don't you Romans have any idea of what it means to fight with honor?" she asked. Of course she received no reply, which suited her just fine.

She turned around to face the main battle, wondering if there would be any on this field today who would fight with any sense of dignity and honor, when suddenly she heard the war cry that split the air like a great clap of thunder, audible even above the noise of the battle.

"RUS!"

The next instant, seven horses burst into view, riding in formation. Their leader was the one who had issued the war cry. Grim and dark-haired, he wielded a great sword that flashed brightly in the sun. At the other end of the filed, one of the Woads brandished the head of a Roman solider he had just dispatched, shouting his triumph in his native tongue. No sooner was the first boast out of his mouth when the leader of the horsemen swung his head. The blade flashed, there was spurt of scarlet and the Woad fell, his own head decapitated.

Anaria knew already who these men were. Arthur Castus and his knights from the Great Wall. These knights, each resembling miniature whirlwinds, would fight and kill more than any ten Romans that day. Merlin had been right.

Anaria felt herself pause for a split-second. Some part of her was strangely reluctant to engage in battle with men who had fought alongside the man from her past. But it couldn't matter. She had no choice but to think of them as enemies. However, she silently hoped that she would not have to make the choice. After all, there were no rules that said she had to encounter them. She would avoid them, not out of cowardice, but because she didn't want to have to face as an enemy one of the knights who had fought alongside the only man she had ever loved.

Tristran was ready with his bow as soon as the knights rode into battle. His arrows were always the first to fly and the first to kill. Tristran was the best archer that had ever been a part of Arthur's knights. His keen sight allowed him to seek out target that others would never have even attempted and he never missed.

He fired off arrow after arrow. There, one into the back of Woad who was climbing on the carriage. Now another into the ribcage of one who was causing trouble for Lancelot, who was fighting afoot. And still another aimed high up into the trees, taking out the eye of one of the Woad archers. And so on, into the forest and on the ground. He picked the Woads off one by one and noted with grim satisfaction that he got them all.

But when his supply of arrows was depleted, he wouldn't be at a disadvantage. Whether horseback or on foot, Tristran was a danger to everyone that he met. Pulling Erim to a stop, he dismounted in one smooth motion and drew the curved sword from the scabbard that hung across his back. His sword was distinctive from that of the other knights, curved, light in the balance and deadly sharp; it allowed him to move swiftly and smoothly. In the blink of an eye, he could go from defensive to offensive and administer the killing blow to his enemy in a matter of seconds. Over the years, Tristran had honed his killing skills to an art form and in his mind, battle was an art form. He whirled, cut, and parried, every move flowing seamlessly into another, as if the whole thing were a dance. Tristran loved the tactics, the challenge, and the danger that came with knowing that one wrong step could leave you dead.

Tristran enjoyed battle. This was the only time he felt joy, or something close to it. He had found over the years that when he inflicted pain upon others in battle, he was able to forget his own pain. The memories disappeared when he was on the battlefield, ands would not return to haunt him for hours after. They always returned, but at least with this outlet for that pain, he was able to keep on surviving, he couldn't say anymore that he truly lived.

Tristran was easily defeating every Woad who came his way. All it took was a few deft spins and parries and they died at his feet, and he didn't pause but went right onto the next. One Woad came toward him, screaming a war cry in his native tongue. Tristran didn't blink but merely stopped him in his tracks on the point of his sword. He shoved the blade into the Woad's body until he felt it connect with his enemy's heart, before withdrawing it swiftly, the Woad already dead before he hit the ground.

Tristran didn't even notice. His mind was already focusing upon the next conflict that would inevitable present itself. Sensing the approach of another Woad behind him, he turned, expecting to dispatch this one as quickly as the others he had killed that day, but from the start, there was something different about this one.

She didn't come towards him, sword held high to bash in his head. She instead approached him cautiously, watching him closely. Tristran had to change the tempo of his dance, as the two of them circled each other, looking for a weakness. But there are times when the only way to discover a weakness is to engage your opponent, and it was so now.

Almost immediately, Tristran could tell that there she fought as well as he did, not better, not less, but almost on a par with his skill. Almost was the key word, for Tristran could tell that she seemed to be lacking something, there was something that she was holding back. It was not fear; it was more like reluctance, as if she wanted to be fighting someone other than him. Tristran brushed those thoughts aside. It didn't matter; she would die the same as the others.

That would be easier said than done. The fact that she was reluctant didn't negate the fact that she was skilled. She parried nearly all his strokes and came in with a few of her own that Tristran found difficult to block. He was being challenged, and he was enjoying it. He liked being challenged every one and a while and she was certainly a bigger challenge than he had encountered that day.

Tristran delivered a downward stroke and was met by an upward blow. And than something completely unexpected happened. For at that moment, they were able to clearly see the face of the other. And, in that moment, they left the battle, (though their bodies seemed remain) and traveled to anther far off time and place, a place neither had returned to in years.

Memories long repressed assaulted Anaria. In her memory she remembered eyes that saw everything, even her inmost thought. She felt his hands on her skin as he taught her to shoot an arrow to fly true. She heard that deep voice, a voice so strong and so gentle, that she couldn't help from listening, enraptured to his every word.

Tristran saw the image of a woman more beautiful than any he had ever seen. The sound of voice, raised in a sweet song, sounding like one of the birds of the air. The feel of her hair as it wafted against his cheek. The memories, so long locked in his heart, were strong, and their sudden release and unexpected intensity, momentarily caused him to lose his breath.

But, regardless of how different or similar their memories might have been, they both felt the strong, unrelenting passion that they had only ever felt in the presence of one person.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the spell was broken and they were back in the present moment, surrounded by the noise and carnage of the battle that raged around them. Tristran took a step back, a stunned look on his rugged features. Anaria was unable to tear her eyes away from his face. They stared at each for an eternal moment, confused and shaken by the strange encounter.

Tristran was unable to bear the memories that the hauntingly familiar face of the woman before him brought rushing to the forefront of his mind. He knew one thing for certain, however, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to kill her, nor could he stand by and watch her be killed by someone else. So, he did something that he had never done in all his fifteen years of serving and killing for Rome. "Go." he whispered.

Anaria was shocked. Mercy was not a trait that the Sarmation knights were known for. "What?"

"Go!" said Tristran, his voice growing urgent and angry. He sensed that the battle was winding down. The remaining Woads were either dying around them or withdrawing back to the forest. She had to go before it was too late, "Go, before someone else finds you. You won't be shown the mercy I am showing you now."

She didn't move; just stare at him as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Go!" he said, as he took a menacing step forward, "Now!"

Anaria took the advice and turned to the forest, running towards safety. Before she disappeared into the sheltering shadows of the trees, she raised her sword and gave the call for retreat, the Woads would not be returning with any sort of prize that day. It was pointless to waste any more lives.

Once she was certain that the call had been taken up by the rest of her people, she risked one more glance back across the field, hoping to catch one last glimpse of the man who had spared her life. She couldn't see him, but still those few short moments in his presence had been enough to arouse feelings and memories that she had tried to forget. Why did he seem so familiar?

The battle was won.

Tristran had mounted his horse as soon as he was sure that the Woad woman had managed to get safely away. He felt nothing as he surveyed the carnage of the surrounding area. Bodies of Woad and Roman littered the blood stained grass. The sight alone would have been enough to make a man retch, not to mention the smell. But for Tristran and the rest of the knights, sights of this kind had become such a normal part of their lives that it no longer affected them in the slightest.

However, Tristran could not forget the woman that he had let go. It felt so strange to offer mercy when he was used to killing instead, and why he should be so concerned for a single Woad, much less show mercy to her in combat, where it was killed or be killed, was a mystery to him as well. He had never let an enemy go alive before. Why had he done it with her?

Trying to distract himself from the paradox that had more or less been thrust upon him unexpectedly, he focused his attention on the scene before him with more than his usual uncanny observation. Arthur had just arrived at the carriage, around which most of the knights had gathered in the aftermath of the battle. "Bors?"

"What a bloody mess." said Bors, pointing into the carriage, not really looking like he meant what he had just said.

Arthur peered into the carriage. "That's not the bishop."Tristran didn't need to hear anymore to divine that the carriage's occupant had met with an ugly end.

Arthur withdrew from the carriage and, moving a short distance away, began to look around at the surviving Romans.

Tristran's attention was drawn away from Arthur when he heard a pitifully whining voice saying, "God help us! What are they?"

Tristran's eyes focused upon the owner of the voice a small, skinny man with beady eyes, who looked to be a perpetual state of fright. Tristran had caught traces of him cowering underneath the carriage, as all around him men had fought and died. "Rat." he thought to himself, with no small amount of distaste. That was the perfect descriptive word for this little man.

Bors was more than happy to answer the Rat's question in his own usually gentle manner. "Blue demons that eat Christians alive." He suddenly turned on the Rat with a savage glare and growled dangerously. "You're not a Christian, are you?"

The Rat believed Bors' display (making him stupid as well as a coward), and he immediately clapped his hand together in prayer, whimpering in complete terror. Bors looked at him, seemingly confused. "Does this really work?" Putting his hands together, he mockingly aped the Rat's actions, muttering gibberish. He opened his eyes and waited a couple of beats. "Nothing. Maybe I'm not doin' it right."

Tristran smirked. Bors never missed an opportunity to torment a person like this Ratty little man. And the fact that he was a Christian certainly helped.

Arthur, who hadn't seen the exchange, was still walking among the Romans, finally stopping in front of one who was dressed in the outfit of a Roman captain. The Romans immediately drew their weapons, in case Arthur turned out to be a threat. Tristran resisted the urge to roll his eyes; even when it was obviously a friend, Romans were paranoid of every person who approached them. Bors and Gawain, who were behind Arthur, drew their own weapons as well, in case the Romans tried to do anything that they would regret.

However, the captain turned to his men and ordered, "Stand down." The Romans obeyed, as did Gawain and Bors, though they seemed slightly disappointed at not having been able to kill a few people that day.

Arthur approached the captain's horse, and bowed slightly. "Arthur. Arthur Castus." greeted the Roman captain, warmly. His voice was heavily accented and oily. It grated on Tristran's ears. And immediately he didn't trust this person, whoever it might be. "You're father's image; I haven't seen you since childhood."

"Bishop Germanus," Arthur said, "Welcome to Britain. I see you military skills are still of use to you." He turned to watch as two Roman soldiers carried the body of another out of the carriage. The man was dressed in ecclesiastical robes, disguised to look like the bishop, but had the unfortunate addition of having an arrow through his head. "You're device worked."

The bishop smiled pleasantly, not at all bothered that he had just knowingly sentenced another man to die in his place. "Ancient tricks, for an ancient dog."

'Snake.' thought Tristran with distaste. This bishop possessed the wily, cold glance, the oily voice, and as much compassion as that slithering reptile. In fact, given the choice, Tristran would have preferred to meet the snake.

Germanus shifted his glance from Arthur to the mounted knights, and his smile faded. He looked singularly unimpressed by the decidedly inelegant and bloody picture that the knights cast. "And these are the great Sarmation knights we have heard so much of in Rome." his tone was thoroughly condescending.

Tristran didn't really care what the Bishop thought. If the bishop had been expecting to find them decked out in shining armor with clean swords, he obviously didn't know a thing about war. Tristran could have told him that battle was a dirty profession, being a knight of the Roman Empire was a dirty profession. Isn't that what the Romans had wanted from his people? Tristran would never understand the Romans, who seemed to make a live off of age-old double standards and prejudice. But, after years of experience he had learned to keep his face carefully neutral in regards to his contempt of the Romans.

Germanus gave the knights no more than a passing glance. Dismounting from his horse, he began walking to the carriage still in deep conversation with Arthur, "I thought the Woads controlled the north of Hadrian's Wall."

"They do, but they occasionally venture south. Rome's anticipated withdrawal from Britain has only increased their daring."

"Woads?" Questioned the Rat.

"British rebels who hate Rome." said Gawain by way of explanation.

"Men who want their country back." growled Galahad, who among all the knights was the one who most resented his forced service to Rome and never missed an opportunity to show it. He hadn't been referring to the Woads when he had spoken.

"Who leads them?" asked Germanus.

"He's called Merlin, a dark magician some say." The sarcastic note in Lancelot's voice made it clear how much he believed that particular rumor.

"Tristran," Arthur said to his scout, "ride ahead and make sure the road is clear."

Tristran nodded, and galloped off, leaving the battlefield behind him. Not for the first time, he was grateful that had been given the task of Arthur's scout. Besides his finely tuned senses, which made him particularly ideal for the task, he infinitely preferred the solitude that it afforded him.

But now that he was alone, that meant that the woman who had been on the battlefield once more came into his thoughts.

That face, where had he seen that face before? Where did he remember those eyes that burned with fire and intelligence, and yet had warmed him their with their gentleness and kindness? Eyes like that had captivated him once, in ace, her whole face had reminded him of a past that he had tried so hard to forget.

That past was eight years ago, when he had known something like peace. True he had been enslaved by the Romans, but the people that he had held most dear were still alive.

Sagramore, his brother who had gone from his life but a year ago. Despite the fact that the two of them had been almost complete opposites, both in looks and personality, the bond between them had been unmistakable. He had been one of the few that Tristran had ever opened up to. But there had only ever been one who had managed to soften the stone wall that had grown up around his heart, and she had been dearer to him than any other life.

The sound of her name alone was enough to make his heart weep. She had completed him, made him all the things that he could never have been on his own. But, than she had been ripped from him forever because of the greed of others. And now, she was dead.

More than anything, he wanted to forget her, put those memories into the deepest corner of his heart where they had been for the past eight years. But forgetting her completely had proved to be impossible. She still haunted his waking moments and his dreams. He may not have shown it to anyone, but he had never let go. And it had made him into the man that he was now.

And now, that woman on the battle field had reminded him of those memories anew, with sickening clarity. She had so resembled the woman from his past that he was half beginning to wonder if she was a ghost. But at the same time, there had been something different about her. She had been darker, wilder, almost as if she were a dark echo of the person that he had loved.

He did not know what to make of it. But he couldn't allow himself to entertain vain fantasies. She was gone to him and nothing could change that, nothing.

Whether of not, she was a ghost come from the past or not was of little matter. He would never be able to regain the life that had been stolen from him, and that was something that he would simply have to live with.

Anaria was a one of the few to make it back to Merlin's look-out point on the forested ridge above the road. "Are you all right, Anaria?" he asked her, worried.

"Yes, Merlin. I feel sore, but I shall live to fight another day."

Merlin was clearly relieved, "Good. I don't think that I could bear to lose you now."

Anaria smiled. Merlin was like a father to her, and he himself valued her as a daughter. And ever since his own daughter had mysteriously disappeared a few months before, he had come to rely on her even more. He didn't want his only family to be taken with him without any explanation.

She and Merlin both turned to survey the small caravan as it began to move back along the road in the direction of Hadrian's Wall.

"One if these days, I'm going to get tired of the Romans continually triumphing over us."

"You and the others did all you could?" said Merlin. His eyes grew distant, and he began to speak as if he had forgotten suddenly that Anaria was there. "We are spread to thin, Anaria. I fear that something terrible is descending upon our land, and that if we remain as we are, we will never be able to defeat it. Perhaps the answer lies with the one we have always considered an enemy, but who is also one of us. But, Arthur, Arthur, and his knights..." He let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished.

Anaria knew that he uncle could sometimes lapse into speech that only he himself could understand. The really strange thing was that while what he said to himself didn't initially seem to have any coherence to it, later on, it would turn out to be perfectly logical. That was why there were rumors that said Merlin was a wizard and had connections to the spirit world.

Anaria never listened to such stories. But even she had to admit that there were many things about Merlin that she would never be able to understand. Now was one of those times. It was best to just agree in silence and wait for him to reveal what he meant.

Merlin fell out of such trances as quickly as he fell into them. Thus, it was only after a few seconds that he turned to Anaria, and quite normally asked. "We must leave this place. Gather up what is left of your fighters."

"Yes, Merlin." she said, knowing that would be a short enough task, less than twenty of her fighters had survived.

A short time later the Woads began to vanish into the forest from which they had come. However, she couldn't resist taking one last glance behind her at the battlefield. Though she couldn't explain it, something had happened between her and that mysterious knight that had spared her life. The way his eyes had so bored into her own reminded her of only one person: Tristran, the love she had lost nearly eight years ago. There were so many memories that were connected with his name. She had never forgotten him, and she had done all that she could never to remember. What was the point of remembering when those memories only brought her pain? What was the point of remembering, when remembering could do nothing to change the past?

But she could not ignore what had happened. Had he been simply a ghost, as he had seemed to disappear the very moment she had seen him? But than, the feelings that he stirred deep in her soul were too powerful to just be ignored. But Tristran had died, killed by Andred and Palomides and the rest. How could he have suddenly have bee raised to life? She had no answers to these questions. The only thing that she knew for certain was that one brief encounter had forced her to remember, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to forget the past again any time soon.

Next Chapter: We learn some of the background of Tristran's story and the knights receive a final order from Rome.


	5. Envy

I hope that everyone is liking this story so far. As always, I own nothing but my own ideas, plus my King Arthur DVD and CD, which no one can take away from me, Ha! Anyway, enjoy this next chapter, as we delve deep into the dark mindset of our favorite scout.

Envy:

There turned out to be no need for Tristran to scout the road to the Wall, as there was no trouble to be found. In fact, it proved to be so quiet that Tristran began to get a bit bored. He knew this road so well, that it was hardly a challenge for him to see that there was no danger to the caravan that was traveling a few miles behind him. And the haunting images of the woman he had left alive on the battlefield didn't do much to help his mood.

Fortunately, it was not long before the rest of the knights, as well as the carriage containing the bishop, caught up with him. And only a short time later, they came in sight of Hadrian's Wall and Badon Hill, as well as Camalann, one of the most central forts of Roman authority in Britain, as well as the place that the knights had called him for the past fifteen years. It had originally been built three centuries before the current generation of knights, to protect the empire from the native Woads who lived in the shadowy woods in the north. The Wall itself, while once a great and powerful symbol of the Roman presence in Britain, was now crumbling into dust, much like the empire that had built it in the first place. But to see the Wall at this time in history was to see the degradation of Rome itself, as the great city was being gnawn at, both inside and out, and could disintegrate at any moment.

Such was Hadrian's Wall and such was the empire that the knights had been forced to defend and fight for a good part of their lives. This had left a bitter taste in many of the men's mouths, and even if the Roman bishop riding in the carriage behind them bore their papers of freedom from slavery, the knights didn't trust the man. Hardly a surprise, but there was something about the man which set them on edge, some more than others.

"I don't like him." said Galahad, as they rode along. "The Roman. He's here to discharge us, why doesn't he just give us our papers?"

Gawain, riding with Bors and Galahad, turned to glance at his young friend, whom he had considered very much is younger brother ever since they had first come together under Roman service. "Is this your happy face?" he asked, causing Bors to laugh and Galahad to grin despite himself. "Galahad, do you still not know the Romans? They won't scratch their asses without holding a ceremony."

"Why don't you just kill him, and then discharge yourself after?" Bors suggested helpfully.

"I don't kill for pleasure," said Galahad, his sullen attitude returning."

Tristran, riding by them when Galahad had said this, his ears hearers of everything that had already been said, picked up on the veiled barb in Galahad's words, aimed no doubt at him. He beamed him a crooked grin." You should try it someday; you might get a taste for it."

Tristran knew what Galahad was trying to do, make him feel guilty about what he had repeatedly asserted through his actions what he felt no guilt about. Tristran was the first to admit that he had developed a taste for death. From the first time he had ever taken a life, he had never felt any guilt, or revulsion, or sadness. He could not say that he ever regretted taking a life.

And yet, Tristran couldn't deny that there was a part of him that envied Galahad. The youngest of them all, Galahad had the strongest memories of Sarmatia and the most burning desire to return to his home. There was also an innocent youthfulness that made him hate killing, even in battle. It was the kind of innocence that Tristran had never had a chance to experience. He sometimes wondered if he would ever be able to leave violence and killing behind him, but he couldn't change who he was, he was a knight, a warrior and for him, the fight would always come first.

He rode on ahead, listening to the continued conversation behind him. Eavesdropping had become something of a habit to him over the years. He had learned a lot that way. Studying human nature tends to be easier when you are silent and patient enough to observe it.

"It's part of you." Bors said to Galahad, "It's in your blood."

"No, no. No." Galahad shook his head, "As of tomorrow this was all just a bad memory."

Tristran bowed his head when he heard this and his grip on the reins tightened. He sounded so sure, so confidant that he could forget, leave all of this behind him. If only there was a way that he could so easily forget. And that was another reason that Tristran had to envy Galahad. Galahad had his whole life ahead of him, a future that he could live for. And Tristran didn't know if he even could claim that he had that.

Apparently Tristran wasn't the only one who was thinking about this, for when Galahad rode on ahead of Gawain and Bors, Tristran heard the blond knight comment, "I've often thought about what going will mean after all this. What will I do? It's different for Galahad. So much home, it's not so clear in my memory."

"Well, you speak for yourself." said Bors, who had no interest in returning to the land of birth. He already had too many claims in Britain. "It's cold back there. And everyone I know is dead and buried. Besides, I have, I think, a dozen children."

"Eleven." corrected Gawain.

Bors cast Gawain an annoyed glance, before continuing. "Listen, when the Romans leave here, we'll have the run of all this place. I'll be governin' my own village and Dagonet will be my personal guard, and royal ass-kisser, won't ya, Dag?" Bors shouted back to his friend, but Dagonet looked only silent and unimpressed. Still, Tristran suspected that whenever Bors went, Dagonet was likely to follow, and vice versa. Nearly inseparable those two. Much like he and Sagramore had been.

Sagramore. Now there was a name that brought back memories.

Tristran's brother had been almost the complete opposite of Tristan in nearly every respect. Where Tristran was quiet, aloof, and a loner by nature, Sagramore had been outgoing and vivacious, and his sense of humor had been one of the best of the knights. It might have seemed strange to some, the relationship they had shared, but the two of them had understood one another. In fact, Tristran probably had owed more to Sagramore than the other way around. He had sacrificed to make sure that he survived and had born many punishments for his sake. He had taken care of him, watched out for him. Part of it might have had to do with the fact that Sagramore was older than Tristran and had always looked out for him. Whenever Tristran had tried to understand why Sagramore did so much for him, but the only answer Sagramore ever gave was that he sensed Tristran was destined for great things, and if he weren't there to accomplish them, who would?

Tristran had never been able to bring himself to believe that what Tristran had said was true. But he knew that he owed his very life to Sagramore. He wouldn't have been alive today but for him.

Gawain's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "The first thing I will do when I get home is find myself a beautiful Sarmation woman to wed."

"A beautiful Sarmation woman?" repeated Bors, skeptically. "Why do you think we left in the first place?"

The two laughed at the joke and Bors mooed loudly. Such rough humor was a mainstay among the knights, and the rougher it happened to be, the better they enjoyed it.

Bors turned to Lancelot, who had ridden up alongside them. "What about you, Lancelot, what are your plans for home?"

"Well," said Lancelot, with a cheeky grin, "is this woman of Gawain's is as beautiful as he claims, I expect to be spending a lot of time at Gawin's house, his wife will welcome the company."

Gawain was rather unimpressed by this. "I see and what will I be doing?"

"Wondering at your good fortune that all your children look like me."

"Is that before or after I hit you with my axe?" muttered Gawain, as Bors, who had been snickering throughout this whole exchange, burst out laughing.

Tristran, listening ahead of them, found himself smiling inwardly as well. Had Sagramore been alive, he would, no doubt, have participated in such east banter. It had never been a skill that Tristran possessed.

A sudden screech in the bright blue sky above him caused him to look up. High above him, he saw the dark silhouette of his hawk flying her wide circles overhead. Holding up his arm, he whistled to her. The hawk soared gracefully down and landed on Tristran's arm, gently taking the meat which Tristran was holding between his fingers.

"Where have you been, eh? Where you been?" he asked softly, stroking the hawk's feather. He knew he would get no answer, at least, not one that anyone else would be able to understand. Onora was not just a simple pet, as some might have supposed. She was his eyes and ears in the sky, a bird that could fly farther and higher than any of her species that Tristran had ever seen. She was able to communicate with Tristran in a wordless language that only he could understand. That meant that she was a valuable ally, as well as a good friend. She had saved his life many times when he was out scouting, when his own human senses weren't enough to warn him of impending danger.

The knights were soon galloping through the gates of Camalann, through the town and into the courtyard that surrounded the main barracks. Their arrival caused a great stir among the people of the town, not only because Arthur was well-known and something of a hero to them, but the great carriage and the number of Roman soldiers clustered around it was indeed a curiosity.

As the group finally came to a halt outside the main barracks, Tristran noticed out of the corner of his eye a familiar red-haired woman surrounded by a horde of eager-eyed children, many of whom bore a striking resemblance to Bors. Tristran smirked, Vanora had a scowl on her face and she looked none too pleased. Bors would have his hands full trying to pacify her.

Tristran's attention turned to the carriage, from which the Bishop was exiting. Germanus' face twisted into a grimace of distaste as he surveyed his surroundings. He had been overly spoiled by the luxuries of Rome.

"Bishop, said Arthur, with more politeness than Tristran would ever have been able to summon up, "Please, my quarters have been made available to you."

"Oh, yes," said Germanus, with obvious relief, "I must rest." Tristran was sure that he needed it since he had he had engaged in such strenuous activity within the last twenty-four hours.

Tristran and the rest of dismounted. Bors hurried out of the courtyard ahead of the rest of them, apparently to greet Vanora. However the greeting he got from her was less than gentle. Besides a sharp slap to the face, he also received the sting of her tongue. "Where you been? I've been waiting for you."

Bors' response to this was to murmur approvingly, "Oh, my little flower, such passion." He kissed aggressively on the month, and Vanora's little sounds of approval made it clear that it was all a show. As it always was, Tristran had observed their relationship over the years. Beneath the roughness of the relationship, a real tenderness existed between those two, a tenderness that fifteen years hadn't been able to dampen.

Bors ended the kiss abruptly and turned to the children who were clustering eagerly around him, looking them all over with obvious pride, "Where's my Gilly?" He grabbed upp a seven-year-old boy into his arms, "Gilly, you been fightin'?"

"Yes."

"You been winnin'?"

"Yes."

"That's my boy," said Bors, proudly, "Come on all my other bastards." The children cheered and followed their parents.

Tristran, who appeared to give this scene of family devotion no more than a cursory glance, yet observed it as closely as he did anything. More so, actually, because of the profound ache that he felt whenever he observed Bors' interactions with his family. Despite Bors' bravado and insisting that he really didn't feel any great connection to his children (instead of names, he had given them all numbers. He had said that it made them easier to keep track of), it was clear to anyone with sense that he felt very proud of his lover Vanora and the brood that they had created. He had a reason to stay here. Tristran didn't have that; he had no claim to either staying on this island or going back to Sarmatia. Tomorrow, he had no idea where he would go. And though he would never have told anyone, Tristran envied Bors for that.

It was rather ironic. Tristan was the loner of the knights; his nature was such that the rest of them thought that he needed nothing more than his own company. But that was where they mistaken. In truth, Tristran envied single one of the knights, for each possessed something that had been lost to him. They had friendship, family, plans, and because they had those things, they also had something that he didn't have: hope for the future. Compared with them, Tristran had nothing. They were busy making plans for tomorrow, but Tristran never had thought of what his life in freedom would be. But now, faced with the prospect that tomorrow he would no longer have to take orders from anyone, the question began to gnaw at him. If the future that awaited him was so empty, than what could the freedom that was going to be offered to him tomorrow truly give him?

Already, he was beginning to understand the answer to that question, even if he didn't like it. And the only true answer was nothing.

Next Chapter: Tristran remembers Isolde, the woman he lost and the knights receive their final order from Rome.

Don't forget to review.


	6. The Final Order

The Final Order:

Tristran had not seen the knights in such good humor for a long time. As they sat around the great Round Table that dominated the Fortress hall, they talked and laughed as Tristran looked on silently. There was a decided of Rowdy happiness among these soon to be free men, a feeling that he could not quite bring himself to himself to join.

The mood sobered, however, when Arthur rose to his feet and said, with quiet reverence. "Let us not forget that we are the fortunate ones."

The other knights didn't need to be told what he meant. As they followed Arthur's action, Tristran looked around him at the empty seats, lingering for a split second longer on the place beside him, The seat that had been filled by his brother.

Tristran was not alone in his private sorrow. Every one of the knights had lost a comrade during their service to Rome. None more so than Arthur felt this loss. He was their commander and carried each death of his men upon his shoulders, and there wasn't a day that went by wherein he remembered that there had once been forty knights sitting at this table. Now there were only six.

"Let us raise our wine to those gallant and extraordinary men we have lost, but who will be remembered for eternity."

The knights all raised their goblets in remembrance and drank, all of them lost for a moment in their own private reflections. But despite the fact that so few of them would be going home, the gloomy mood could not last forever.

"To freedom!" declared Bors.

"To freedom!" echoed the knights, all but Tristran, who, though he participated in the toast, didn't say it. More and more, the notion freedom was becoming almost as alien to him as happiness.

The knights immediately broke into happy talk of the future. Tristran merely sat back and listen with half an ear to their separate conversations.

The creaking of the door caused everyone to fall silent; the man who had been traveling with Bishop Germanus, his secretary Horton, entered the room, importantly, but stopped short when he saw the unorthodox round table. Obviously not used to seeing such a bold statement of equality, he still somehow managed to sputter out the name of his superior. "His Eminence... Bishop Gneaus Germanus."

The bishop entered, all smiles, before he too saw the Round Table. His reaction mirrored that of his secretary, only the bishop seemed to understand what it meant better than Horton did. He looked at Arthur in mild disapproval. Arthur's steady gaze met his stare levelly, not looking at all ashamed of his beliefs, which Germanus clearly didn't share.

"A Round Table?" hissed Horton to Jols, "What sort of evil is this?"

Jols replied as if he couldn't understand why Horton was having a problem with the situation. "Arthur says for men to be men they must first all be equal."

When Germanus entered the room, the knights rose to their feet. Even is they did not respect the Roman in actuality, they had learned enough to at least give a show of what he was expecting. The notable exception to this was Tristran who defiantly remained sitting. He paid no more attention to Germanus than if he had been a fly. What had the Romans ever done that he should give them even a veil of respect?

Such a belief was perfectly logical to Tristran, but when Arthur cast him a sidelong glance of disapproval, he complied with the unspoken order, even though he paused just a few seconds after he had caught Arthur's eye. For Arthur, he would stand, but he intended to be rebellious to the last.

"I was given to understand there would be more of you." said Germanus.

"There were." was Arthur's short answer. Looking around at the many empty seats, he added, "We have been fighting here for fifteen years, Bishop."

Tristran glared coldly at the Bishop. And the rest of the knights exchanged grimly sad looks. Too many years, too many friends gone. Bishop Germanus would never be able to understand and he had transposed on sacred ground by speaking of it.

Germanus brushed off his last statement casually, apparently unaware of the misstep that he had just committed. "Of course, of course." A Roman legionnaire entered the room, carrying a silver platter with golden goblets of wine. Bishop Germans took one and nodded at the legionnaire to offer the knights the same. He continued in his obviously prepared speech. "Arthur and his knights have served with courage, to maintain the honor of Rome's empire on this last outpost of our glory."

As Tristran knew the other knights to be indentured-or in his case, kidnapped- into their service, he wondered if they found it as hard not to laugh at this ridcoulas statement as he did.

"Rome is most indebted. To you, noble knights, to your final days of service to the Empire."

"Day," corrected Lancelot, "not days."

Germanus smiled anxiously and changed the subject. Indicating the others to sit down (except Tristran who had already resumed his seat), he continued. "The Pope's taken a personal interest in you. He inquires after each of you and is curious to know if your knights have converted to the word of our Savior, or..."

"They retain the religion of their forefathers, I've never questioned that." Arthur stopped it, before they went down an awkward path. Aside from Arthur, none of the other knights were Christians. They either clung to the Pagan religions that had been passed onto them or refused to bow to any god.

Germanus didn't need to hear anymore to know what Arthur was trying to say. "Ah, of course, of course, they are pagans, hmm?" It was unclear whether he meant it as an insult or not. "For our part, the church has deemed such beliefs innocence. But you, Arthur, your path to God is thought Pelagious? I saw his image in your room."

Arthur's manner was wistful as he remembered his childhood mentor. "He took my father's place for me. His teachings on free will and equality have been a great influence. I look forward to our reunion in Rome?"

Germanus seemed to cough nervously when he heard this before changing the subject yet again. "Rome awaits your arrival with great anticipation; you are a hero. In Rome, you will live out your days in honor..." he turned to the knights, as if to include them. "And wealth."

Tristran scoffed inwardly. Wealth, what good was wealth to him when the Romans themselves when the Romans had stolen his most precious jewel?

Germanus continued speaking. "Alas, alas, we are all but players in an ever-changing world. Barbarians from every corner are almost at Rome's door." Germanus' secretary came forward and placed a wooden box on the table beside the bishop. "Because of this, Rome and the Holy Father have decided to remove ourselves from indefensible outposts, such as Britain." The tone in his voice caused Tristan to rise slowly from his seat, scrutinizing Germanus closely. "What will become of Britain is not our concern anymore." The Bishop's tone was off-hand, uncaring. "I suppose the Saxons will claim it soon."

"Saxons?" questioned Arthur.

"Yes, in the north, a massive Saxon incursion had begun."

Saxons. Tristran knew of the Saxons. His knowledge was scant, but he had heard enough to know that the Saxons were more dangerous than the Woads, or even Rome. The Saxons hailed from the distant lands of the north, they were a vicious bloodthirsty people who knew nothing in life except battle, brutal conquest and death. And if they were coming to Britain, Tristran knew that the land was doomed.

The other knights seemed to aware of this outcome as well. "Saxons only claim what they kill." said Lancelot, darkly.

"And only kill everything." finished Gawain.

"So you'll just leave the land to the Woads," asked Galahad, almost skeptically. "And I risked my life for nothing."

Tristran understood Galahad's frustration. He should have expected this. It was just like the Romans cut and run at the first sign of danger. They had given no thought to the people that they would be leaving behind. And this latest act proved to him what he had known all along. The purpose that he had always fought and risked his life for, was not really much of a purpose at all. In fact, all his sacrifices seemed to have been nothing.

Germanus was not in the least bothered by the accusation, he even smiled as if to say, "well that is the general idea." He opened the box, revealing six scrolls. "Gentlemen, you're discharge papers of safe conduct throughout the Roman empire." The knights were all standing by this point, by turns both eager and distrustful of Germanus' true purpose. For Tristran, he felt more the latter than the former. And his suspicions would prove to be right, when instead of giving the knights their freedom, Germanus slowly sat back down. "But first, I must have a word with your commander." No one moved, but Germanus added quietly, "in private."

"We have no secrets." said Arthur.

Germanus, a very unpleasant look on his face, closed the box with a bang that reverberated through the room. It was a clear warning that the knights wouldn't be getting their papers until Germanus got his way.

The tense standoff continued for a few more seconds until Lancelot straightened and said, "Come, let's leave Roman business to Romans."

'Probably best.' thought Tristran, though he hated to leave. But nothing could be gained by staying. Picking up the goblet that the legionnaire had given him, he began to leave the hall, followed closely by the other knights. However, before he left, he stole one last glance at the Bishop. He didn't like the oily smile that he saw there. He still didn't trust him. Whatever Germanus had planned, Tristran suspected it wasn't for the good of the knights. And he had an even unpleasantness suspicion that his doubts would prove to be true.

The music which filled the courtyard of the tavern was happy and festive, an adequate reflection of the knights' mood this night. The tavern had long been their refuge and get-away from the difficulties of life under Rome. It was a certain fact that whenever the knights got back from a mission, sunset find them here, drinking, laughing and more often than not, looking at whichever woman might be available for a night of pleasure. This night was no different, though it was upped in celebratory atmosphere as the knights were looking forward to a new life of freedom.

Tristran alone did not join in the happy reveling of his companions. Leaning against one of the beams of the tavern courtyard, he observed all in silence from the shadows. It was his way, to watch the normal goings on of his fellow knights. He watched their celebration, their drinking, and their eying of nearly every wench in the place, never making his presence known until it necessary, if it ever was.

This was the way it had been for the past fifteen years, they enjoying, he watching them and remembering what happiness used to feel like. He had almost never joined in their carousing habits. Whenever he had tried, he had felt awkward and out of place. He was different from them. Besides the fact that he had no close friends among them, he had never had any desire to do what all the others considered normal living. He never really did understand their desire to drink themselves into oblivion. But perhaps, the real reason why he never joined them was because he didn't want to risk becoming to close to any of them. Anyone he had ever allowed himself to get close to he had lost. His family, his brother, the woman he had loved; they had all been torn from him, and with each new loss, his heart had hardened so that now, he hardly ever allowed himself to show any kind of emotion.

At the very least, he found a kind of refuge this way. He could watch the happiness of others, and cope easier with the hollowness in his own soul.

Lancelot and two Roman guards had begun to gamble, and as was normal, Lancelot's luck was not the greatest. One of the Romans tossed some dice and apparently won because he proceeded to take his winnings from the table with a triumphant smirk on his face. However, before he could take what he had fairly won, Lancelot suddenly struck the table with a dagger and said, "Best of three." He made it clear that he fully intended to win, be it by fair means or foul.

Vanora came around with her pitcher of ale to refill the cups of those who frequented the tavern every day, "Who wants another drink?"

While her back was turned, Lancelot slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. "When are you going to leave Bors and come home with me, eh?" he said, in a voice that would have caused many other women to swoon into his arms, but Vanora only rolled her eyes disgust.

"My lover is watching you." she said, through gritted teeth, as she slapped him lightly on the cheek and wiggled out of his grasp.

Bors, standing a few feet from Tristran with his latest child in his arms, saw this exchange, and the cheeky look which Lancelot cast in his direction. Bors looked down at the baby for a moment, trying to see if he could find any resemblance to Lancelot in the boy. The baby, who had been fussing for awhile, began crying in loud, harsh wails. That didn't seem to faze Bors however; indeed he just grinned down into the baby's face, "You look nothing like him," he said, referring to Lancelot, "you're all Bors."

Tristran's moved his attention from this scene (as there was nothing more that he could find to interest him), to the knife throwing contest that was ensuing between Galahad and Gawain. As usual they were shooting while drunk, and also as usual, their shots were extremely off. Galahad threw a knife as hard as he could. It was a notable attempt, but it landed far short of the bull's-eye. And Tristran could see that his form was off; he expended to much effort where only a little was needed.

Tristran sighed. How long would he have to teach these two knights how to throw a knife properly? He had lost count of how many times he had repeated it.

Coming up behind the from the shadows, so silently that neither Gawain nor Galahad saw him. He drew his knife, took a moment to carefully plan his aim, and threw with ease and accuracy. The knife landed, not on the board, but buried itself in the hilt of the weapon that Galahad had thrown only moments before.

Galahad turned to look Tristran, surprised to see him and visibly annoyed that he had managed to best him. Gawain, on the other hand, seemed very impressed, "Tristran, how do you do that?"

Tristran pointed with his apple and said the same thing he had told them so many times before, "I aim for the middle."

He was about to elaborate further, but Dagonet brushed past him, cutting him off. The look he saw on Dragonet's face struck him as curious. He seemed to be distracted, tense, as though he knew something that was causing him extreme pain. When Tristran thought of it he couldn't remember seeing Dagonet since the knights had left the Fortress Hall. Had Dagonet overheard some of the private exchange between Arthur and Germanus? Had he heard something that was troubling him?

Bors, unlike Tristran, didn't seem to notice that something was troubling Dagonet, "Dagonet, where have you been? We've got plans to make." Dagonet made no answer, drinking the ale that had been poured for him. Another strange thing. It appeared to Tristran as though Dagonet were deliberately avoiding any conversation with Bors. Tristran was mystified by what he was witnessing. Dagonet and Bors were cousins from neighboring villages and it was rare for one to be out of the other's company. Why Dagonet should be silent on this of all nights was odd.

However, before Tristran could think further on the issue or ask Dagonet what was wrong, Bors turned to Vanora and asked, "Here, please sing."

"No!" said Vanora, a little nervously.

"There's a lass-"

"No!" said Vanora, trying to back out of it.

But once Bors got an idea into his head, it wasn't easy for anyone to talk him out of it. "Come on." he said, as he started pulling her gently into the courtyard that surrounded the tavern.

"No, I'm trying to work." She continued to protest feebly.

"Shut up!" shouted Bors to the musicians who had been playing a lively up until that moment, "Vanora will sing."

Vanora still tried to turn down the invitation, but the announcement that Vanora would be singing got the rest of the knights into the act of convincing her to display her talents.

"Sing about home." said Galahad.

"Don't drop the baby." was Gawain's rather unnecessary shout.

Vanora finally submitted to their pleas and stood front and center, cradling her baby in her arms and began to sing. Tristran stood back in the shadows, his presence once more forgotten, as the sounds of Vanora's low musical voice began to fill the courtyard.

_"Land of bear and land of eagle __  
__Land that gave us birth and blessing __  
__Land that calls us ever homeward __  
__We will go home across the mountains."_

As she sang, Tristran began to feel the barriers that he kept around his heart gradually begin to weaken and he allowed himself to remember.

"Isolde." he whispered, her name echoing through him as if he had shouted her name to the very highest hills. She had known how to sing, too, with a voice that had sounded like a flowing river, strong and lyrical. Her voice had tamed his soul. She had understood him as no one else ever had. She had seen the pain of his family's death that he had kept locked inside her heart for so long. She had helped him to set that pain to rest. She had seen his bitterness, shared his understanding and love of the natural world, but most of all, she had taught him to love. Their souls had been knit so closely together that they had almost been one. When he had loved her, he hadn't needed to wonder about home, she had been him home.

_"We will go home _

_We will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home singing our song_

_We will go home."_

Vanora's voice faded the more Tristran listened. Home she sang of, a home that lay across the mountains and the place where so many of the knights dreamed of returning too, but home was a foreign concept for him, gone for so many years that now the very word sounded strange. As far as he was concerned, he didn't have a home anymore. He could remember precious little about Sarmatia and those memories were far away and blurry; they could very well have come from dreams than any true moments he had experienced. It certainly was not enough to make him want to return.

And the question now struck him. what would he do with his life now that he was free to pursue his own life? He didn't know. There was nothing that he could hope for, nothing that he could truly live for now that he was about to be a free man.

He had lost whatever home or freedom he had when he had lost Isolde. For a few heavenly months, they had been happy together. He should have known that it was doomed to not last. He had had enough experience in life to know that whatever happiness was given to a person, fate replayed it back with ten time as much pain. That might have seemed like a cynical attitude to some, but for Tristran, it was cold, hard fact, made true by bitter experience.

He felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He wasn't going to give into the pain which could be so overwhelming at times, nor was he going to let others see the agony of his broken heart. Faced with the prospect of freedom, he only thing that he could think was that he felt like a ship driven by the waves, it's course unknown.

"_Hear our singing_

_Hear our longing_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home_

_We will go home."_

Vanora's voice had cast a similar spell upon everyone there, but the things they felt were the exact opposite of what Tristran was feeling. To them, the very idea of freedom was sweet and heavenly. Many, like Tristran, didn't have a clear idea of what they would do with the freedom so long denied to them, but the major difference was that they were able to see something good in that future, where as one knight was only able to see darkness.

So deep were they in their separate dreams and emotions none of them at first noticed Arthur approaching the tavern. He was stone-faced, his eyes filled with deep sadness. He stopped at the edge of the courtyard and surveyed the scene before him. Galahad's eyes were closed in a rapturous wonder, Dagonet had the barest hint of a hopeful smile playing on his lips. They were all sharing a moment of happiness, a longing anticipation for freedom. How could he come now and destroy that happiness with the worst possible news he could give them? Arthur's heart would not let it be. He turned back to the street, wanting to leave them for a while longer before he told them the news which would surely make all of them hate him.

However, before he had gone more than two steps, Jols, the young squire of the knights, saw him and shouted, "Arthur!"  
turned back, sorry that he had been caught, but realizing that perhaps just telling them and getting it over with would be the best course of action.

None of the other knights seemed to notice that Arthur was unusually silent, nor the grave countenance that was over his face, except for Lancelot and Tristran, both of whom could see that something was troubling Arthur.

"Arthur, you're not completely Roman yet, right?" said Galahad, as the rest of the knights gathered around Arthur. It was obvious that Galahad had drunk a little bit more than he could handle that night.

"RUS!" roared Bors, who was in high good humor. Arthur was here, now the celebration would be complete at last.

But, Arthur didn't respond to any of this light-hearted fun. He looked at each of the knights in turn, dreading what he had to tell them, all the more because they weren't even suspecting it. "Knights," he finally began, "brothers in arms, you're courage has been tested beyond all limits, but I must ask you now for one further trial."

"Drink." said Bors, ready to take Arthur up if that was a challenge.

But, Arthur still didn't react. In fact, he seemed to grow even more uncomfortable. Tristran, still continuing to eat his apple, began to suspect that Arthur was serious, but about what he didn't know.

Arthur took a deep breath and plunged on, "We must leave on a final mission for Rome before our freedom can be granted."

A moment of silence greeted this statement, than the knights began laughing, sure that Arthur was joking. Tristran couldn't join them. He knew very well that Arthur was a serious man, and he certainly wouldn't joke abut something like this.

Arthur pressed on, "Above the wall far in the north, there is a Roman family in need of rescue. They are trapped by Saxons. Our orders are to secure their safety."

The smiles that were the knights' faces began to wilt as it became clear to them that Arthur was serious, "Let the Romans take care of their own." growled Bors, the good humor of the last few minutes vanishing rapidly.

"Above the wall," slurred Gawain, "is Woad territory."

Galahad's temper, fueled by the amount of drink that he consumed that night, was dangerously fraying. "Our duty to Rome," he spat, contemptuously, "is done. Our pact with Rome is done."

"Every knight has laid his life on the line for you, for you." said Bors, pointing at Arthur, "And instead of freedom, you want more blood? Our blood!? You think more of Roman blood than you do of ours."

"Bors," said Arthur sternly, "these our orders. We leave at first light, and when we return you're freedom will be waiting for you. A freedom we can embrace with honor-"

Bors cut Arthur off with a violent shout, "I am a free man! I will choose my own fate!"

Tristran, who had been listening to this whole thing with his unreadable face, now spoke up. "Yeah, yeah, we're all going to die someday," he said, coldly, as he continued cutting away at the apple he had been eating, "if it's a death from a Saxon hand that frightens you-" he paused for a moment and looked up at Bors, the barest hint of a sneer playing across his mouth. "stay home.'

Galahad finally lost his temper when he heard this, ""Listen, if you're so eager to die, you can die right now!"

He would have launched himself down Tristran's throat the next instant, but Lancelot stepped in, trying to get him under control, "Enough! Enough!-"

But Galahad wouldn't listen, "I've got something to live for!" he screamed, practically in Arthur's face, cutting his eyes sharply toward Tristran in the process.

"A noble death in battle." said Tristran, quietly, aware of the marked contrast between the deadly calmness of his voice to Galahad's heated rage. "That is worth living for." For him, it was all he had to live for.

The Roman commander hadn't flinched through this whole exchange. He just stood waited. It was clear that he didn't relish having to give this news to his friends, anymore than they were thrilled to receive it.

There was a moment of fuming silence, until finally Dagonet provided the voice of reason amidst the chaos of sudden anger, "The Romans have broken their word." he said, decisively, "We have the word of Arthur. That is good enough. I'll prepare." He started to walk off into the shadows of the fortress streets before turning back to the tavern and shouting, "Bors, you coming?"

"Of course, I'm comin'." shouted Bors, "Can't let you go on you own! You'd all get killed! I'm just sayin' what you're all thinkin'!"

But, he was wrong in that respect. That was not what one of the knights was thinking. As Tristran followed Dagonet, he found that he truly didn't are whether or not he died on this mission. If death was waiting for him, than so be it. In some ways, death might even be preferable to the life that he now lived; not that it was really much of life in the first place.

He was angered that the Romans had broken their word, but it didn't matter in the long run. It was still just another order. In fact, if he survived this order, he suspected that it would not be his last. There would always be another order. If it didn't come from Rome, it would come from someone else. And those orders would always lead to another battle. There would always be another battle for him. He was warrior and he had and would keep on fighting till the end. The battlefield was his home, since he lacked any other, it was all he had left, besides the haunting memories of the home that had been destroyed and a love that he had lost.

It had become all to clear to him. He would not be free tomorrow, or at the end of this mission. He knew the truth. As long as he could remember all that he had lost, Tristran knew that he would never be free.

* * *

The quote that Tristran has about a "Noble death in battle" is from the novelazation of the movie by David Frazoni. Throughout this fan fiction, I might be using some of the quotations and situations that are outlined in the novel that aren't necessarily in the movie. When that happens, I will be sure to mark it.

Next chapter: We get to see a bit more of Anaria's story.


	7. Among the Woads

Sorry it has taken me so long to update. My life has really been crazy lately. However, I do hope that this chapter is worth the wait. For this chapter, we will be leaving Tristran for a bit, and focusing on Anaria bit, learning a bit about her and her past. May I just reiterate, as I may have done before, the culture of the Woads in not meant in anyway to be historically accurate. The movie itself may not have been historically accurate, so I see no need to make mine strictly accurate. But this is how I think the Woads may have lived. With that said, enjoy!

Among the Woads:

The Woads were a nomadic people, several tribes moved through the dark forests and craggy mountains of the north. They moved in loose configurations along ancestral paths that had been traveled for generations, even before the Romans had come to the island. With the advent of winter, many of the Woads were scattered across one of the larger forests, retreating deep into the shelter of the trees, to escape the cold of winter.

While they were governed loosely by their tribal chieftains, all Woads owed their allegiance to Merlin, who was considered to be the High Chieftain of all the Woads. Whenever a message came bearing his name, whatever he ordered was obeyed without question. For the Woads knew that they depended on Merlin's leadership to keep them free from the heel of the Romans. Had it not been for him, the Romans presence in the north would have been as obvious as it was in the south.

But even the very best of leaders needs advice. Merlin normally relied on his daughter, niece and advisors to help him make his decisions. And with the sudden disappearance of his daughter nearly two months before, Anaria's duties had increased. But there was obviously still avoid left by his daughter that even Anaria could not feel and that was weighing upon Merlin's soul.

It had been two days since the unsuccessful raid in the north. The discussion of what this appearance of this Bishop could mean soon lost some importance when other things were learned that were even more troubling. Roman stations along the Wall were beginning to be deserted; the troops that had been there for years were suddenly packing up and leaving without looking back. For over three hundred years, Hadrian's Wall had been defended, now why the Romans should desert it so quickly struck not only Merlin, but everyone else on the council with suspicion.

But the council was suddenly interrupted by the sound thundering of hooves of a swiftly approaching horse. A second later, a Woad scout burst into view He appeared to be riding for a long time. His horse was frothed and wet with sweat. The scout himself looked tired and worn. But there was also a look in his eyes that no amount of exhaustion could hide: the look of someone who had seen a nightmare.

He galloped up to the camp, leapt off the horse hurried to Merlin's side and struck a dagger into the earth beside Merlin. "Saxon." he said, in the Woads' native language. He didn't need to say anymore.

Merlin, a deeply troubled look on his wizened face, pulled the dagger from the earth and looked long and hard at the unfamiliar, sharply drawn symbols on the dagger's handle. "How many?"

"Thousands." was the scout's grim reply.

The scout went on to describe what he had seen on the northern coasts of Britain; rows upon rows of ships had come from the cold lands across the sea, the people in these ships were tall, blond, and broad-shouldered, with think furs draped over their bodies, making them seem even bigger than they were in reality. They had burned the entire village and put to the sword every man, woman and child they could find. They were traveling south at this very moment, no doubt leaving a trail of destruction and death behind them.

The entire council listened to this report in silence, the horror and imminent threat becoming clearer to them with every passing word. Here was an enemy more deadly then even the Romans.

When the scout was finished with his report and Merlin had dismissed him to get a well-needed rest, he turned back to the council. "You hear, my friends, the direness of this news. I need not try and describe to you what a threat this is to out land and all our people. It is as I feared, Rome has left and someone else must take their place. We cannot allow the Saxons to fill that void."

"We must send messengers to the villages in the north who have not yet arrived." said Harold, one of the advisors. "We cannot allow the Woads to be overrun. We are stronger if we stand together."

"And while we're standing together, where does that leave those who are not of Woad heritage? Those Britain's who have learned to live beside the Romans. What of their fate?" came Anaria's voice, who had remained silent until now.

Harold curled his lip into a slight sneer, his contempt for the group of people that Anaria had mentioned all too obvious. "Let them run with the Romans or take care of their own against the Saxons. If they are overrun, it will matter little to us."

"Why is that, I ask you?"

"Because they do not belong to our people. They corrupted their blood and themselves when they chose to live alongside the Romans. It would be a dishonor to protect them. We have problems enough of our own, without allowing parasites into our ranks."

"And is that how you think of me?" she asked, pointedly, "As a dishonor, a corruption and a parasite?"

All eyes turned to Harold, who looked rather mortified when it occurred to him that he had just inadvertently insulted the niece of Merlin.

"Forgive me, Anaria. I meant no disrespect; I only meant to say that..."

"Yes, I know perfectly well what you were trying to say, but you are not allowing yourself to look far enough. You all are aware that for the first part of my life, I was raised as the daughter of a Roman lord. I had everything I could possibly want, but I knew that I was never truly a Roman, even before I found out about my heritage. I always knew that I was different from the others around me. But I also lived among other Britons. They may be lesser in your opinion than us, Harold, but they are just as much a part of this land as you or I. They have learned to live among the Romans, learned how to make their own happiness and their own life. But I can assure you that they have remained Briton despite all their interaction with the Romans and maybe we could learn something from them."

"What do you mean?"

"These Britons, though they have clung to their roots, yet have adapted some of the Roman innovations to their lifestyles. You have to admit that the Romans are superior to us in many ways."

"Are you mad, Anaria? The moment we admit foreign influences is the moment that we forget who we are?"

"I'm not saying that we wrong in the way we live. I'm saying it might be time to stop isolating ourselves and begin to open ourselves to the world around us. If we don't, than we will have no chance of turning the tide against the Saxons."

This created uproar amidst the other members of the council, some of whom agreed with Harold, others taking Anaria's side and a few chipping with ideas of their own. Regardless of how different each of their opinions might have been, all of them seemed to believe that they were right and were convinced that talking louder than anyone else would make everyone else believe that they were right as well.

The argument was rising to a fever pitch until suddenly Merlin's booming voice put an end to the debate. "Enough! Enough of this! Be silent, all of you!"

Quiet instantly settled upon the council. There was no trying to contradict Merlin when he used _that_ tone of voice. "An enemy more deadly than any we have ever known has landed on our shores and you sit here arguing like a horde of undisciplined children? Now is not the time for this council to be fractured by inner strife. The issue of those who are not of our blood is no doubt one that will have to be addressed at some point, but we cannot do anything if we allow such arguments as this to lead us."

There were murmurings of agreement from the rest of the council, all of whom looked ashamed, Anaria included. After all, Merlin was right.

Once he was sure that order had once more been restored, Merlin nodded and said, "Now, as to what you say, Harold. I agree that the other villages in harm's way be summoned. Send messengers out by first light tomorrow. Bring them to me tonight. I will instruct them what they should say and where they should go. As for the rest of you, think on well on all that you have heard tonight. We will meet again tomorrow."

With that, the rest of the council dispersed, Anaria among them. Despite all their disagreements about the right course to take in the coming days, one thing was certain to all of them: their home, which they had fought for so long to defend and restore, was now in greater peril than before it had ever been. No person would be unaffected by the events of the coming time. What was to come for Britain, they all knew, would affect millennia to come.

* * *

Click that little next button to learn a whole lot more about Anaria.


	8. Remunerations

Remuneration:

As evening moved into night, Anaria left the main camp of the Woads and headed out into the forest. She took a trail that she had walked many times. The Woads did not have what could be called a standing cavalry. However, they did have a fair number of horses that raveled with them from place to place. Anaria herself as one of the main keepers of the herd that this village kept with them. She had an affinity with horses that was almost uncanny. No matter how wild a horse might be, one hour in her company would calm them. She never believed that she had tamed a horse; she had always merely believed that she could speak their language. Horses seemed to sense that they had found a kindred spirit in Anaria; they knew that they could trust her.

The Woads who guarded the precious steeds knew Anaria, and let her pass without argument, nodding in respect as she moved past them. She walked to the place where the horses were tethered on wide stakes, which allowed them to roam freely, but kept them from wandering too far.

The horses, though aware of that Anaria was walking amongst them, continued grazing, unbothered by her presence. All except one, over on the outskirts of the small herd, a beautiful, black mare raised her head and nickered in greeting.

Anaria stroked her muzzle. "Hello, there, Celeste. Resting up from your last trip, are you?"

Celeste bumped her head against Anaria's chest in answer. Anaria smiled at the sign of affection that perhaps only she would have been able to understand. Celeste and Anaria shared an unspoken bond; no one who saw them together would have doubted that. While the rest of the horses belonged to no one specific and were ridden interchangeably by various Woads according to need, no one besides Anaria could ride Celeste. Celeste was hers.

There was a reason for this. Celeste had been a truer friend to Anaria than many humans had been. She was the last link from Anaria's past, as Anaria had her when she had been still been living on the Roman estate of Ian Marcellus eight years before. Anaria had always believed that Celeste understood everything she said, and right now, she needed a little guidance of the non-human variety.

She loosed Celeste fro her stake. "We need to take a little walk. There are many things that you need to know."

She and Celeste walked from the boundaries of the main camp, Celeste following her without a lead. Anaria knew a place that she went to think and be alone. When the Woads were encamped in this part of the forest, she went there quite a lot. It was a place where a small river flowed through the forest, filling the surrounding trees with its babbling music. The water always ran clear, reflecting moonlight and sunlight, becoming by turns of time a ribbon of cool silver or molten gold. Save for music of nature that harmonized with the river during the warmer times of the year, it was quiet and peaceful. Anaria found come measure of peace here, a place where she could bid her heart be still and she knew that it would obey her.

She sat down on one of the rocks that bordered the river and looked at the playing shadows and light across the water's surface. Celeste bent her head to drink, seemingly waiting for Anaria to say what she had to say when she was ready.

"There is much on my mind, Celeste," began Anaria at last, "even more in my heart. I hardly know where to start." She was silent for a few seconds. "The Saxons are coming, our land is in danger. Merlin, I think suspected that something like this would happen once the Romans started to leave" she shook her head. "I fear for our land, Celeste. Merlin says nothing of it but he knows, as I do, that the Woads are too few to stand any chance against the Saxons. The Saxons are not like the Romans. The Romans are content to sit in their fortresses along the Wall. They do not seek us out, we seek them out. That is why we have survived for so long, that is the one advantage that we can always count on. _We_ decide the time and place of attack. But the Saxons are different. They would find us. They would not let us just nip them at the heels and let it go. The would seek out every Woad and kill any that they could find. The only other option we have is open warfare, we would be slaughtered.

"Our only chance lies in embracing the other people who call this island home. They have lived among the Romans for generations, and yet they still retain the culture and share the blood that binds us all together." She laughed humorlessly. "Not many on the council agree with me. It seems that some of them close their eyes and their hearts, forgetting who those people are," she added quietly, "who I am."

Sighing, she was silent for a few more minutes, ruminating. "Merlin has always encouraged the sharing of different opinions. He did not intend for his advisors to be silent, or there would be no need for them. And as much as I cannot agree, I can see the view of the others. We have lived apart from other Britons so long; it is a way of life now, a way of thinking. Unity would not come overnight, and wouldn't be welcomed very readily by some, on both sides. We are already regarded as savages and barbarians by those who live in the south, and if I had not been Merlin's niece, I know that I would not be accepted as I am. And the Woads consider other Britons to be impure and inferior because of the way that they have chosen to live their lives. The only way that we will ever achieve unity is if we can learn to achieve infinite diversity in infinite combination." she thought about this and shook her head. "I may talk like I understand, but I know that such a task is beyond me. I have never been able to fully embrace the customs of Rome, not after what they did to ruin my life."

Celeste put her muzzle against Anaria's chest in a gesture of unspoken sympathy and comfort. She may not have understood completely the reason for Anaria's pain, but she could clearly see that Anaria needed a friend. And indeed, despite the fact that Celeste wasn't human, she sometimes felt that Celeste was one of the few that she could truly open up to.

Very few knew the woman that existed behind the cool and aloof calm that Anaria exuded to the world. She was capable of great tenderness. She may have normally been a fighter and a spy for Merlin, but she had not always been like that. She would not have been such a miraculous healer had it not been for her upbringing. She knew that part of who she was still Roman, but she denied, tried to hide behind from it by embracing her Woad culture, the part of her that hadn't caused her pain. She had denied it for so long that she sometimes wondered who she truly was.

"Have I made a mistake, Celeste?" she questioned of both her friend and herself, as she stroked her soft coat. "As I think about this riddle called unity, has it been so wise of me to bury my identity for so long? How can I know how to bring unity to a nation when I don't even know how to make peace with the two parts of myself? And, ever since that battle in the south, I have been feeling even more confused. You remember what I told you, the knight who let me go, he looked so much Tristran. I'm beginning to wonder if he was just a ghost. But, I cannot allow myself to believe that completely. I know all to well what a ghost is supposed to be, I have seen enough of them in my dreams. This man, whoever he was, was far too real to be a ghost, and what I experienced in his presence had more substance than any dream I have ever had.

"But still, I can't reconcile what I saw and felt for so short a time, with the truth that I have lived with for the past eight years. Tristran is dead. Eight years he has been dead." Her voice had become softer, each word intoned with the emotions of intense suffering and emptiness that plagued her to his very day, feelings which she couldn't seem to escape from. "I cannot seem to let him go, and now this man or ghost, whichever he might have been, reminds of those things all over again." She closed her eyes, trying to keep the tears from falling, struggling to hold onto her cool, untouchable persona that had been with her all these years, and yet now even she had the power, as she thought and talked of such things, to keep a few tears from escaping through the cracks in her armor, which she knew would never be truly perfect.

"There is not the smallest hope." she said, "Wishing can't bring him back, crying won't bring him back. These few seconds were real, but they weren't real enough. So I must go on as I have been, surviving as best I can."

Anaria sat for a long time with Celeste, thinking about what the things that she didn't normally allow herself to remember. There were no easy questions that were swirling around her mind. And Anaria didn't know if she would have the strength to answer all of them.

Finally, she got to her feet and said, "Come on, Celeste, we had better get back, before a search party is sent out for us." Celeste chuffed in agreement and the two set off through the forest, back to the Woad camp.

No sooner had she retied Celeste back on her stake, and, after wishing her good night, had started walking the trail back into the camp, than a messenger came running up to her. "Anaria," he said, quickly, "Merlin has been scouring the camp for you. He must speak with you. It's urgent."

Anaria seeing that it would be a waste of time to argue followed the messenger without another word. When she arrived at Merlin's tent, she saw tat he was not alone. Standing beside him, was a man who looked to be in his mid-forties. Anaria recognized him as Torin, an old friend of Merlin's, but more because he was the chief of the tribe that her cousin had visited two months previously, and from where she had disappeared, without any word from her or the tribe since. Torin himself was a few years younger than Merlin himself, a man of the battlefield, with numerous scars covering his body. Some of those wounds had aged parts of his body beyond their years. He walked with a stiff limp and one of his ears had been cut off by a Roman axe years before. Torin may have lost his ear, but the Roman had lost his life, and therefore the loss of his ear was no tragedy to him.

The sight of Torin filled with Anaria with a mixture of hope and foreboding. For there was only two things that could have brought Torin here and she believed that she already knew what that reason was.

Merlin and Torin had been in deep conversation but when they saw Anaria approaching they stopped and Merlin said, "Ah, Anaria, I'm glad you're here. You remember Torin, of course."

"Yes, I do." replied Anaria, as she and Torin exchanged nods.

"He had brought news of Guinevere."

Anaria looked from one solemn face to the other. "It's not good, is it?"

Grimly, Torin shook his head. "You are right. It pains me to tell you the news, but Merlin has said that you might be able to help." he took a deep breath and continued. "Two months ago, as you know, Guinevere came to visit us. However, she had stayed no longer than a week when the village was attacked."

"Romans?" asked Anaria, not thinking that it could be anyone else.

"It was to dark to tell, but they were not wearing Roman uniforms. They could have been mercenaries."

"What happened?"

"They came upon us in the night, too fast for the guards to warn us. We fought as long as we could, but we were outnumbered. The mercenaries burned everything that they couldn't use and took the rest, including any able-bodies worker they could find, women and children included."

"And Guinevere was with them?" said Anaria, already knowing the answer.

Torin nodded. "Yes. It is the only explanation. She was not among the dead and we could not find her anywhere. However, we managed to track her to a possible location. A Roman estate owned by a Lord under the protection of the Romans' church. We watched, but we could not see her. If she had been there, we would have tried to rescue her, Merlin, I assure you. But our numbers were too few, our supplies depleted. We would have only succeeded in more deaths."

"Torin we have been through this," said Merlin, who had fought many battles and taken many lives, but the wisdom that he gained from his life experience showed him that Torin was not to blame in this matter. "I know that you would have died to protect her if necessary. You did what you could and fulfilled your duty by telling this to me. At least, now we have some idea of where she might be, and what we can potentially do to save her." He aimed a pointed glance at Anaria, whose eyes were alert and interested by what she had heard.

"Where was this estate, Torin?"

"About a week's journey from here, to the northwest."

"Describe this estate to me. What was it like?"

Anaria continued to drill Torin in this manner, asking him specific questions about the landscape that surrounded the estate, the landmarks that distinguished it from the surrounding country, how many guards, how many people that lived in the surrounding village, and other such inquiries until she finally was satisfied.

"I know this place that you are talking of. I have passed at a distance a few times, but I have always kept my distance. The man who runs that estate is a slave driver and he will drag anyone unlucky enough to be caught trespassing on his lands into his service."

"So, would there be a chance to save Guinevere if she was there?" asked Merlin hopefully.

"Not a very big one," said Anaria, truthfully, "but it could be done."

Merlin looked hard at Anaria for a few seconds, before turning to Torin and saying, "You and the people you have brought get rest and food. You sound you could use it. Be assured that you are welcome here."

Once they were alone, Merlin turned towards Anaria. "Anaria, if I asked something of you, even if were dangerous, would you do it?"

"I believe that you already know what it is that you want to ask of me."

Merlin smiled a little, despite the obvious pain that this latest news had caused him. "You always had a way of reading the needs of other people, my niece. You must find Guinevere. You know the area that Torin described better than most and I know you can travel on your own. I know that it is dangerous. The Saxons are on the move and there is no guarantee that you would be successful. But you are the only one I can count on. I must remain here to mobilize our people. I know that I'm asking a lot of you, but if there is any chance to rescue Guinevere than I know that you will make the most of it."

"Merlin," said Anaria, "Who are you trying to convince? Do you here any objections from me? You don't have to ask of me anything, Merlin. I will do it, and whatever it takes, I will bring Guinevere back to us."

Merlin's smile grew when he heard. "Thank you, Anaria. You cannot know what this means to me."

"I think that I can, if only in a different way. I will leave as soon as I can gather the necessary supplies."

"May the gods go with you, Anaria." said Merlin.

Anaria turned and made her, for the second time that night, to where the horses were kept. Only this time, this was no casual visit. She had a mission, a mission that nothing, not the Romans nor would the Saxons keep from achieving. She was fully prepared for the dangers that she would inevitably have to face.

But no amount of preparation or foresight would have been able to prepare her for what she would encounter on this journey; suffice it to say that it would be beyond anything that she had ever thought to be possible. For what she would find was not an enemy, but a memory from her past that she had tried so long to forget, and from that memory, an unexpected hope for her future.

* * *

Next chapter: We go back to Tristran as he starts out on a journey with the other knights, a journey wherein none of them will come from quite the same.


	9. Setting Off

Hey there, everybody. Here are a couple of new chapters for your reading and/or viewing pleasure. I should say that these aren't exactly plot driven stories, but some of these scenes are so good that I just couldn't leave them out. Any scene with Tristran is worth exploring, I think. Still, I think that they are pretty interesting. I hope you enjoy them.

Setting off:

There was a decidedly gloomy atmosphere hanging over the stables as morning dawned. Tristan observed it all from the rest of the knights. The air of jollity and good humor, so prevalent among all of them the night before, was replaced by grim and scowling faces. They had good reason to be so angry on the very morning that freedom should have been there's, they were instead, riding off on a mission that would, in all likelihood leave a few of them dead. It would take them awhile before they managed to reconcile themselves to that.

For Tristran himself, if he had to shy that he felt ambivalent towards the whole affair. He didn't care if the family they were meant to rescue came out of this alive or not (in some ways, he didn't care if he came out of this alive); all that mattered to him was that he did his duty honorably and served Arthur to the best of his ability. Beyond that, he had no other purpose to serve.

However, the other knights weren't feeling that ambivalent, or understanding.

Galahad was already packed and mounted, and he was driving his horse around in circles, as if trying to work out his frustration and rage. The exercise didn't seem to be working. When Arthur entered the stables, Galahad stopped what he was doing for a split second. He glared darkly at Arthur, who stared back at him, somber and silent. He had nothing that he could say to the young knight that would make the situation any better, or that would be listened too.

After a few seconds, Galahad broke the contact and continued his exercise. Arthur kept on walking forward in a straight line, Galahad missing him by mere inches as he passed by him in his circle.

Galahad was by far the angriest of the men, but that didn't mean that the rest of the knights were feeling some sense of betrayal and anger against the Romans by varying degrees. It was evident that there would not be many words spoken between commander and followers this day.

Tristran was quietly going about his own preparations for the journey. He had just finishing sharpening his sword when he saw the Bishop walking into the stables, accompanied by his own set of guards, as well as his secretary, the rat Horton (Tristran still thought of the hapless man as a rat more than anything else).

Germanus stopped in front of the other knights, all of whom were getting ready for their mission. The Roman Bishop couldn't keep the contemptuous expression forming on his face, as he surveyed the dirty and inelegant knights. Dagonet, who just happened to enter a few seconds after Germanus, just happened to "accidentally" bump into him as he was walking past. Tristran, running his fingers over the blade to make sure that it was sharp enough, caught the look that passed between them. Germanus viewed the knights with a kind of disgusted foreboding, while Dagonet no doubt mirrored what the other knights thought of the Romans, distrust and smoldering anger that had been simmering for untold centuries, and had only been heightened by this latest clash between Roman and Sarmation interests.

Steeling himself against his surroundings, Germanus said, "To represent the Holy Court, my trusted secretary, Horton. Horton." The Bishop's secretary stepped forward, "will accompany you on your quest." Horton didn't look particularly excited about this assignment. Tristran didn't doubt that Germanus had "volunteered" Horton for this himself. And that Horton wasn't just a representative, he was meant to be an unspoken spy looking out for Germanus' own interests.

Arthur stared at Germanus and Horton for a few seconds, his face unreadable. Finally, he said, "Jols, find him horse."

None of the other knights seemed pleased with this latest addition to their numbers. Horton would just be one more responsibility that they would now be strapped with. For Tristran's part, he was not going to expend any effort to defend that despicable rat. The man was not worth defending. If he wasn't smart enough to keep out of harm's way, than he wouldn't be risking his life to get him out of it.

As Jols led Horton away, the Bishop spoke to Arthur, "God's speed, as you fulfill your duty to Rome."

Arthur stepped forward and said, coldly, "My duty is also to my men."

Germanus nodded, smiling smugly. "Than get them home." He had put Arthur in this position and it was clear hat he felt no guilt about it.

A few moments later, the knights were galloping through the streets of Camalann, the hooves of their horses clattering on the cobblestones. They were setting off on their final mission for Rome, and to an uncertain fate.


	10. Skirmish

Skirmish:

Sarmation horses were noted for their endurance. They were capable of traveling at great speeds over distances that would have crippled or possibly killed other mounts. This endurance was shared by their riders, so that when a mission needed to be completed, especially a mission like this, when the distance was so uncertain, horse and rider could function as one, almost sharing in the other's strength to get them thought the arduous journey.

And this was one instance where that shared strength would be doubly needed, as the land that lay to the north of the Wall was in many ways unknown territory, a strange world that held unforeseen dangers, notably the Woads. In the south, defeating them was normally an easy venture. However, in the north, it would be a different story. Here the Woads knew their territory, and the advantage would be on their side. Defeating them would not be such a simple matter.

For the first few days of the journey everything went normally. The knights rode their mounts hard, traveling by day and night (a difficult task for Horton, who never was able to accustom himself to such a pace), stopping only to water and rest their mounts before starting again on the trail. However, on the third day of their journey, all that would change.

They had entered a dense forest the night before. A trail that Tristran remembered from of the few missions up this far north. He knew that it would take them through the forest, despite the fact that it grew increasingly narrow and dark the farther they went.

Even the most steadfast knight among the men couldn't hide a slight shudder of fear from skating down their spines as they moved through the forest. They could hardly be blamed. Even in the half light of dawn, the forest proved to be a place where half-imagined terrors could be hiding around every bend. Light shifted through the openings in the trees, casting weirdly colored shards of light on the forest floor. A wind whipped through the trees and underbrush, sounding like a wounded demon. And as the knights proceeded to travel deeper into the forest, the trees seemed to closer together, crowding around and above them, creating an air of intense claustrophobia that none of the knights could escape from.

Even Tristran, by the far the most aloof among them and the least likely to feel anything like fear, was himself on edge. He could feel his senses becoming utterly attuned to what was happening around him, speaking and whispering to him. It was not a beautiful sound, by any stretch of the imagination. The sound was harsh, staccato, ugly. Tristran knew that this was how the earth spoke at times, but beyond this sound of impending storm, he was also beginning to be aware of another sound: the trees were moving, but not with the wind, as they were supposed to be doing. Backwards, forwards, left and right, in unison with each other, as if they were all connected as one. But Tristran was also beginning to be aware of the shadows that were darting along the forest floor and in the treetops above them.

These were not random imaginings. These were from people who knew how to be invisible until the right moment. The knights were not alone in the seemingly empty forest. They had been followed from the very moment that they had set foot in the forest.

The knights were riding in a loose line, al of them looking up at the tees in obvious apprehension. They may not have known what was happening, but they knew that was something was not right.

Tristran rode up to Arthur. "Woads." he said, "They're tracking us."

Arthur looked at Tristran. He had known Tristran long enough that he had learned to trust the scout's instincts. "Where?"

"Everywhere."

The knights all heard Tristran's murmured warnings. They instinctively checked to see that their weapons were loose and ready.

They were all expecting an attack, but even so, it shocked them when it came. Suddenly a web of thorny, sharp vines, tied together like rope, sprang up in front of them, blocking the path. Simultaneously, a hail of arrows from both above and below began coming down around them. Woads began appearing all around them, shouting their strange war cries and brandishing weapons.

The knights tried to negotiate themselves out of the ambush, while fighting back as best as they could. But, every direction they tried was blocked by more vines or some other type of ingenious traps that the Woads had constructed, or by the threatening points of the enemies' swords and spears.

Eventually, they were forced back to the clearing where the attack had first begun. They were immediately surrounded by dozens of Woads, all of them armed with bows and arrows, all of them aiming at Arthur and his band of knights. There was no retreat. The only thing that could be done was to go down fighting. Arthur drew Excalibur, while the other knights drew their weapons, determined to take down as many Woads before...

And in the moment between the Woads firing their arrows and the knights driving their horses to attack, a deep, rumbling sound permeated the forest from all sides. The Woads froze in place, listening closely. They knew what that sound meant, it meant that they must break off the attack at once. Some of the Woads did not seem happy with the idea of letting their prey escape, just when they had it cornered; some of them seemed to even consider firing on the knights anyway, but the horn sounded once more, and insistence to an order that had to be obeyed.

With a great deal of reluctance, the numerous Woads around them lowered their weapons and began to disappear one by one back into the shadows of the forest. In the space of a few short seconds, Arthur and his knights were the only ones in the forest.

The knights continued holding onto their weapons at the ready, despite the fact that the Woads had disappeared. They had never seen the Woads vanish at such close range before and the effect was unnerving. How could you defend yourself against an enemy that you could not see?

"Inish." Dagonet said at last, "Devil ghosts."

"Why would they not attack?" Galahad asked the question that everyone was asking themselves silently.

"Merlin doesn't want us dead." responded Arthur, though not he, nor any of the other knights would have been able to answer why.

* * *

As I said, these least two chapters were a little short, and if anyone is offended by such, than forgive me. Don't worry, the next chapter will be nice and long. It will also be one of the pivotal chapters in this story. It's not _the _pivotal scene, but these next few chapter's won't be ones that you will want to miss. In the next chapter, Tristran and Anaria finally encounter each other and in that meeting, discover all that they have thought was lost to them forever.

But, as for this chapter, read and review.


	11. Encounter

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own characters and circumstances.

Well, here is the chapter that everyone has been waiting for, well one of them. This is the chapter where Anaria and Tristran at last see each other, but of course, since I am a mean writer, I won;t have them recognize each other just yet.

Enjoy.

Encounter:

Many hours had passed since the skirmish with the Woads. Tristran was now on his own, scouting the forest for any further danger along the trail. As he moved trough the trees, he kept his senses alert to his surroundings, but all that could be heard were the usual sounds of the forest.

Tristran soon came into a clearing, the first real break in the tree cover that he had seen since the knights had entered the forest. It was something of a relief, however illogical it might have been to feel such an emotion, to see that there was still a sky above the cavernous tree cover and more light than just the dull grey glow of the forest. The clearing had a waterfall that tumbled over some rocks into a river that flowed slowly back the way that he had come. Mist rose up from where the waterfall met the waters of the river with an almost musical splashing roar. The mist rose thick and white, obscuring most everything around the edge of the waterfall with a wet veil that was almost impenetrable.

Tristran pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted. Erim dropped his head gratefully and began to drink; obviously relieved for the respite, however short it might prove to be. Tristran himself could have done with a rest. The knights had been going hard for several days and Arthur had told him to try and find a suitable place to make camp. Tristran could tell from the sky that dusk was falling rapidly and the rest of the knights would soon be catching up to him. Tristran looked around the clearing carefully; he neither heard nor saw anything that seemed out of the ordinary. This might be as good a place as any to stop for the night.

Suddenly all thought left Tristran's mind. He froze, his body tingling with an unpleasant sensation. He had felt it earlier that day when he sensed the Woads swarming silently around the knights, waiting to attack. His sixth sense was warning him of something similar occurring at this very moment, in this very clearing. He was not as alone as he had at first imagined. Someone was watching him, from where he could not yet tell, but it was from somewhere close by, only this time, instead the stare of multiple enemies, Tristran knew that there was only one.

As she crouched behind the concealing screen of mist behind the waterfall, Anaria cursed herself silently for not paying closer attention to her surroundings. By the time she head the heard the sound of someone approaching through the forest, she had barely had time to scramble out of sight, taking refuge in the shallow cave-like opening behind the waterfall. She had hoped that it might be one of her own people, but when the lone horseman rode into view, she knew immediately that he was no Woad.

Her view from behind the curtain of cascading water was distorted, she could make out no clear image of who the intruder was, but she could make out enough to see that he was erect and tall, wearing armor that was of foreign make. His horse appeared to be a strong, well-bred animal, though tired, as was his rider. It looked as if both of them had been traveling hard for quite some time. Anaria was not sure why, but there was something familiar about him. However, since she could not see him clearly, she couldn't be positive.

She was not looking for a fight, now was not the time for that. She hadn't been seen yet; she could only wait and hope that whoever this was, he would move on soon.

For many breathless seconds, she waited. The man looked around him, as if trying to sense if there was anything suspicious about his surroundings. Suddenly, his eyes turned and focused themselves on the very spot where she was hiding. Though she was perfectly sure that he could not see her, she found herself retreating deeper into the hollow, taking advantage of every inch of space that her hiding place afforded her.

But the next instant, his eyes passed on and he continued scanning the area around him. He stood still for a moment longer, as if to make absolutely sure that there was no one in the immediate area.

Finally, he seemed satisfied that he was alone in the clearing. He allowed his horse to finish drinking, before taking him by the reins and leading him into the woods, never once looking back.

Anaria waited a few more minutes, to make certain that he was gone, before stealing silently from her hiding place behind the waterfall. She looked around her at the clearing; everything seemed clear. Hopefully the danger had passed, but she knew that it could still be nearby. She had to be careful.

However no amount of her being careful would have been help her in this case, because she was already cornered. Tristran may not have been able to physically see anyone behind the curtain of the waterfall, but he had sensed that someone was near. He was in no mood to play games. He was going to deal with this here and now. He had led back Erim back the way that they had originally come, before stealing back to the clearing to watch for any signs that his suspicions would be confirmed. He did not have to wait long before he saw her form slink out from behind the waterfall.

Having taken cover behind the trunks of two thick trees, he had taken care not to let her out of his sight. He was a little surprised to see that she was woman, though he was aware that the women of Woad society had equal standing with men.

He watched the woman closely, tracking and anticipating her movements almost a split second before she made them. Her movements were a study in the grace of stealth, as she were one with the earth that she walking on. She was obviously familiar with the forest, and what it took to move through it without being seen or heard. And as Tristran watched her, the more he began to be aware of the strange fascination with which his keen eyes were following her movements and try as he might, he knew not what was causing that fascination. She seemed maddeningly familiar, as if they had passed each other before, and her physical profile had somehow been burned onto his memory after only the briefest of glances. But it was more than even that: she stirred something in him, reminded him of something that he had never quite been able to forget, as she had been so grafted onto his soul, that it had proved impossible for him to let her go.

He tried to push such thoughts away; he couldn't allow himself to be distracted. But they still remained, hovering at the edges of his mind, refusing to be silenced by the voice of logic.

Anaria continued moving, slowly and carefully. She was still tense, though she neither heard nor saw anything that should have alarmed her. Her instincts were still telling her to be on guard.

But even with all her senses attuned to the world around her, trying to find where the danger might be located, she was unprepared for the voice that suddenly called out gruffly from behind her. "Stop right there."

Anaria immediately whirled around, only to find herself face to face with the very man who she had spied from her hiding place only a few minutes before. She was too shocked to even chide herself for her lack of foresight. He had been able to sneak back to the clearing without her even seeing or hearing him, and he had probably never even set foot in this forest before. This was her territory; she wasn't supposed to be the one who was surprised. At least, it had never happened before.

However, shocked and annoyed as she might have been, she was not so blinded that she was unable to see the arrow that this stranger was pointing straight at her. If she made any move, she knew that it would be her last. So, she stood, unmoving, her eyes never leaving the man before her, waiting to see how this would turn out.

He came forward a few steps, his hand holding steady on the bow. "Who are you?" he growled, "Why were watching me?" His voice was harsh, accented in such a way that was both beautiful and dangerous. He was foreign, that much Anaria could tell, from both his voice and his armor. The feeling that she had seen and heard this man from somewhere came to her anew, but it was much stronger this time. She had seen that steady self-assuredness in the face of dealing out death before, but where?

Had she known that he was going through exactly the same type of confused recognition, the reason why he did not release the arrow and kill her right then when he had such a perfect vantage point would have become clear. Tristran was torn between his warrior nature, that was urging him to dispatch the enemy, and the sudden strength of the feelings in his heart, which was whispering to him in a soft but strong voice which he couldn't ignore, to spare this one woman, if only because she resembled so strongly an image of the past.

Several tense beats passed between them, each feeling and thinking what the other was thinking and feeling, even if they themselves were unaware of how much in tune they were with each other, that between them there was a bond, which, though thin and seeming to stretch over an immeasurable distance, was yet impossible to break.

And so, when the blinding moment of recognition came, it was not only possible for it to dawn on them both in the exact same moment.

Anaria saw the man who had spared her life on the battlefield five days before. Tristran saw the woman that had inspired him, for the first time, to show mercy to an opponent. And both remembered also, though they may have tried to deny it, a time years before, when they had been in love.

They both stared at each other in speechless shock. They could find no words to say, for what could they say? How can you put into coherent words, what you are unable to understand? And how can you understand when what should impossible is actually happening?

Tristran lowered his bow ever so slightly and took an uncertain step forward. "Who are you?" he repeated, this time in a voice of muted wonder almost cautionary hope.

But, he would be getting no answer. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, when the woman darted away swiftly and began to make a run for the sheltering trees of the forest. Tristran, cursing inwardly for letting his guard down, started after her at a dead run. He was not only intent on finding out who she was, but he was equally, if not more, determined that he would not allow himself to run the risk of letting her go again, not before he had the answers which he sought.

Anaria knew that he was pursuing her. She would have hardly expected anything less, but if she could just make it to Celeste, than she knew that she would be beyond his reach. She felt that she was running, not just from an enemy, but also from the memories of her past. She wasn't sure which one she wanted to get away from the most.

She ran a short distance into the forest, where she had tied Celeste a few minutes before. She was relieved to see the black mare and hear her welcoming whiney. She ran up to her and was just about to mount, when she heard his voice behind her. "Wait."

She froze, more on instinct than anything else, before turning her head to stare at the man who had been following her, gaze one side of suspicion, fear, and even, a little curiosity.

Tristran, seeing that gaze full force upon him, was reminded once again of Isolde, and the fires that could rise in her eyes when her anger was roused. This woman looked so much like her, even in her wilder appearance that he was momentarily struck dumb. But he knew that he hadn't stopped her yet. A wrong move his side and she would be off.

"Don't run off." he said, softly and gently, using the same voice that he used when calming his hawk or his horse, a tone that he never used, except for the things which were dearest to him.

Carefully, he started towards her. She had turned to face him completely by this time, her eyes still suspicious. When he started towards her, she stiffened and drew a little nearer to her mount. Tristran spread his arms to show that he had no weapon within easy reach. "I won't harm you." he said, in that same gentle tone.

Anaria, despite herself, found that she believed him. There was something in his manner that made her think that it would be impossible for him to lie to her. For some reason that she could not explain, she knew that she could trust him.

Another long moment of silence passed between them, And in that moment, the wind, before still, began blowing gently through the trees, caressing their faces, reminding them of the touch of a long forgotten love, whispering the words of a time long past. They could not move, either to retreat or advance, only stare and experience the feeling of their hearts beating in unison.

What would have happened next is impossible to say. They could very well have stood staring at each other for the rest of eternity. But, at that very moment, the sound of multiple, approaching hoofbeats was heard, and the spell was broken.

The veil of suspicion immediately dropped back over the woman's face and she looked from Tristran to the forest, where the hoofbeats were rapidly growing nearer and nearer. Before she could run or Tristran could make any sort of move to stop her, Arthur, followed by the rest of the knights, rode into the clearing.

Anaria could have screamed with frustration. Her escape route was cut off, it would be impossible or her to even attempt running now. She half wondered if this man had deliberately led her into a trap. But no, as she looked at him more closely, she could see that he was as surprised by this unexpected appearance as she was. And besides that, she still ad a lingering idea that she could trust this person, whoever he was, whatever the circumstances.

"Arthur," said Tristran, "I was not expecting you to catch up with me until dark."

"You are not the only one who can track in the woods, Tristran. I think I have seen signs that the Woads are on the move, more than I originally thought them to be. I thought it best to catch up with you and see if you had seen anything suspicious."

Before Tristran could reply, Lancelot spoke up, "It seems that Tristran has found something interesting already."

Arthur, who had been addressing Tristran, looked around and saw Anaria, seemingly for the first time. A hard set came over his eyes as he looked her up and down. "Tristran, who is this?" he asked of his scout, without taking his eyes off the woman, who seemed as distrustful of them as they were of her.

"I don't know. I think that she was watching me earlier, but whether or not she has been following us, I cannot say."

"Who are you?" Arthur asked her, but he got no answer. She just stared at him. She was not frightened, for she had not a hint of fear in her expression, merely a steady gaze of quiet courage that revealed nothing. "I asked you a question." growled Arthur, menacingly.

Anaria responded in her native tongue, in such a way that neither Arthur nor the rest of the knights could tell if her statement was meant to be taken as an insult or not.

"Arthur, I don't think that she can understand you." said Lancelot. "The Woads have their own language, and it very different than the Roman tongue."

"Was she alone?" Arthur asked Tristran.

"As far as I could see, Arthur."

"Why would she be traveling this far out alone, with no one to defend her?" asked Galahad.

The woman turned a glare on Galahad, as if she had been insulted by the remark.

"Woad women have an equal standing men." said Arthur, "Nevertheless, it is an odd circumstance that I don't care to take chances with. I don't think we should be letting her go, even if we don't hurt her. Galahad, Tristran."

Both of the knights knew what the command meant, and though Tristran wasn't exactly enthusiastic about having to carry out this particular order, he had never once disobeyed an order, and he couldn't start now.

He started forward. By this time, Galahad had dismounted and was also walking towards her. She was watching them both carefully, and it was evident that she knew something was afoot. But even is the knights thought that she didn't know what was going on (or even if she knew their language), they were al about to be sorely mistaken.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the black mare, who had not made a move the entire time that the knights had been surrounding her, she moved with all the speed of a striking snake. She moved in front of Anaria, blocking her from Tristan's advance. Before he was able to react, she let loose a fierce whiney and reared forward, throwing her entire weight against him. Tristran fell to the ground, completely winded by the unexpected blow.

In the same instant, Anaria had drawn a dagger which she had pulled from her boot and, in a way that Galahad was never able to say afterwards how, it happened so quickly, she had the weapon pressed to his throat.

The two moves were simultaneous, as if the horse and the woman had planned it that way all along. It happened so fast that no one had been able to do anything to stop it.

A beat of stunned silence ensued, before Anaria growled coldly, "Do you really think that I need protecting?" he words may have a slight accent, but her knowledge of the language was obviously flawless. She had not been ignorant of that had passed between the knights of Arthur's company, she had merely feigned ignorance until such knowledge could be used by her to her own advantage.

Arthur wasn't one to let surprise rule him for very long. So, it wasn't long before he found his voice. "Let him go!" he growled menacingly.

"You gave orders to take me captive, you have me surrounded, you would most likely kill me without a second thought and you want me to let this man go?" questioned Anaria, sarcastically, "How big of a fool do you think that I am?"

"It is just like your people to resort to treachery instead of facing your enemies directly." spat Arthur, "You hide in your forests, and swarm down upon innocent people You destroy everything you can without so much as a second thought. You give no thought to your actions. You are little better than ravening wolves." Arthur was normally controlled in his emotions and opinions. However, the Woads had been responsible for the death of his mother at a very young age. Because of that, he had had a difficult time hiding his hatred for the Woads or keeping it from influencing his actions. Now, he was doing rather a poor job at keeping his opinions a secret.

Anaria gave no indication that she took offence at this. She had heard the same thing before so many times, that she dismissed it as being merely the prejudice of the Romans. "And does that make us any worse than the nation that you pledge loyalty to, Arthur? Perhaps, in your eyes we are savages, but if that is the case, than what are the Romans? They are snakes, cunning and cruel. They are locusts, who descend upon the innocent and greedily devour all that they can hold and than devour more. The Romans are no more civilized than the Woads, but given the choice, I would rather be a savage barbarian than what the Romans call civilized. However, let me tell you this: the Woads may be your enemy, Arthur Castus, but _you _are not mine." And with that, she all at once released Galahad and pushed him away from her.

This seemed to have stunned Arthur, more anything else she had done up to that point. He had never even considered the idea that the Woads were capable of anything even remotely resembling honor, mercy or compassion.

Anaria stood in front of him and spread her arms. "Now, there is nothing to shield me. Kill me if you wish, but if you do, than you will be guilty of murder. I have no fight with you, nor do I desire one. Allow me to go on my way. I have no need to follow you."

Arthur, despite himself, was struck by the eloquence of her words. Dismounting, he came up to her and studied her closely. She did not flinch under his gaze, but merely returned his stare definitely and with no sign of fear.

"What is your name?" Arthur asked, at last, "And what are you doing alone in these woods? Your people don't normally travel alone, so you will perhaps understand my caution."

Anaria hesitated. She wasn't sure if it was the best idea to answer his questions. She was naturally distrustful of the Romans, and she knew that these men could very well kill her without a second thought. On the other hand, for the same reason, she knew that she had to tread carefully. They wouldn't accept her silence, and they had the advantage on their side. She had a mission to complete, not just for the well-being of the Woads, but also for Merlin as well. And if she wanted to live long enough accomplish it, she would have to tell them something.

"I am called Anaria." she said, at last, "and I am looking for a kinswoman of mine who I believe may have been lost in these woods."

"Is that the only reason?"

"Yes."

"Forgive me if I doubt your word. But we had a skirmish with a good number of your people this morning. My men and I could have been killed. I have not been in the habit of believing very readily the word of an enemy."

"Well, perhaps you should start now."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you plan on using this same trail to get through the woods?"

"Yes." said Arthur, who was a bit confused by this sudden turn in the conversation.

"If you plan to go that way, you will only run into more of my people. They are retreating deeper into the forest with the advance of the Saxons. I am sure that you know that they have invaded these shores. Should you encounter any of them again, you won't be able to survive." she paused, allowing her statement to sink in, before playing her only chance for her own life. "I could show you which paths to take that would help you to avoid them. Once we go through the forest, you can let me go, and we can go our separate ways."

Arthur seemed to consider this deal, before turning to Tristran. "Do you think that there is any truth in her words?"

Tristran had recovered from his being shoved to the ground by the woman's horse. He had not been able to take his eyes off her the whole time that she had been negotiating with Arthur. Hearing her speak only served to remind him more sharply of the memories which had been his constant companions for the past eight years. She spoke with the same poise, confidence and spirit of the one who considered herself an equal among men, a woman who may have been afraid, but was strong enough to not let the fear control her.

Tristran was also struck by the fact that she was trying to end this situation peacefully. Even surrounded by warriors that she had met before in battle, she was trying to keep blood from being spilt when there was no need of it. Someone had once opened his eyes to such a way, the way of peace.

And whether it was the memory of that strength of character and gentleness of heart, or some other instinct, that had so long been silenced, now reawakened by the sight of this woman, Tristran knew that she was someone that should be listened, too.

"I knew the path that we are currently following will bring us through the forest, but more beyond that I don't know. It might help to have someone who knows this forest. I think it would be wisest to listen to her."

Arthur nodded, still looking like he was thinking. Finally, he said, "Than, Anaria, I accept your offer. We follow you to the edge of the forest, than you can go to your own way. But you will be traveling with my men on my own terms. You will be under constant watch, and I can promise you that should you have any thoughts of escape, it will be the biggest and the last mistake that you will ever make." Arthur allowed what he had said to sink in. "Is that a situation that you could live with?"

"It seems that I have not much choice. However, your men had better perish any thoughts of coming too close. If they do, than I can promise _you_ that they will suddenly find themselves deprived of their manhood, and they will be eating it after, too, if I should have half a mind."

Arthur blinked and stared at her. For the first time, he was too dumbfounded to speak. The other knights were also amazed and looked at the Woad woman with a deeper respect than before. It was clear that she meant every word that she had spoken, and it was a threat which she wouldn't be afraid to enforce it given half an opportunity.

Anaria smiled, grimly, sensing with satisfaction the effect that her words had had. "Now, I think, we know where we both stand in this matter."

"It seems that we do. Now, come, I would like to gain a bit more ground before we stop for the night."

Anaria, who had by this time, called Celeste back to her, was just about to mount her, when her eyes caught sight of the same dark knight she had first encountered. He was stroking the muzzle of a dapple grey stallion, which one of the knights' servants had been leading by the reins. Something about this scene made her pause. There was something about that scene, the way that he was talking to the horse, and stroking the stallion's coat, as if the horse could perfectly understand every word of what was being said to him. Such gentleness from a man whom she was sure had killed other people without even a second thought. A contrast in personality that she remembered only in one person.

As if he sensed her gaze, he looked up, straight into her eyes, in a stare that was so penetrating and so binding that it was impossible for her to look away. Why should he have spoken up for her? She didn't know what would have happened if he hadn't, but it wasn't something that she wanted to dwell on. But she didn't have any answers. All she knew for certain was that in form, manner, even down to his smallest movements, he resembled Tristran, and the thought crossed her mind that perhaps, just maybe...

No, she pushed the thought away, it was impossible. How could the dead come back to life? When she was going to give up on dreams that had faded with time and now had no chance of coming true?

She looked away, unable to stand anymore of his penetrating gaze. Strangely, he looked away at almost the exact same moment, and though she couldn't have known it, the exact same doubts and questions were racing also through his mind.

They both refused to see it, but something had happened between them when they had first encountered each other by the waterfall. For the first time in so many years, they had come face to face with a part of themselves that had been wrenched from them eight years ago, and had been missing ever since.

* * *

Well, how was that for a cliffhanger? Don't worry, I won't be holding you i suspence for long.

Next chapter: A retrospective chapter that looks into the thoughts of Tristran and Anaria as they are forced to face the past.


	12. Hidden Meanings

Hidden Meanings:

Anaria's unexpected addition to the Arthur's group of knights was met with suspicion on both sides. It was hardly a surprise. there was already enough bad blood between the Woads and Romans as it was. The Romans saw the Woads as uncouth barbarians, the lowest of the low of the peoples that inhabited this godforsaken island of Britain. The Woads, on the other hand, considered the Romans to be cruel oppressors, invaders who had come from the outside and dared to take a land that was not there's', wresting it from the people who had lived there for untold eons. They didn't think that the Romans could understand this land any more than they were able to understand the concept of mercy and true honor.

The Sarmations, though not having the hatred which seemed to be inborn in the Romans, yet they had very little regard for the Woads. The Woads were the enemy they had to fight; they had cut down many of their brother knights in battle. So, they generally didn't feel a need to like the Woads. There might also have been some envy mixed with the reluctant admiration, for the Sarmations had fallen to the Romans almost completely; their history as a nation would be forever stained by the defeat.

But the Woads had never capitulated. They had held out in their northern forests, launching attacks on Roman settlements and military outposts, making it impossible for the Romans to lay claim to the entire island. They had caused enough trouble to force the Romans to build the great Hadrian's Wall and, subsequently, keep it manned and defended for the pat 300 years. They had never lost their identity, they had fought back. But the Sarmations had been raised to fight, and fight for Rome. Whatever their different mixed emotions to the Woads, they had to fight the enemy of Rome. And the Woads had always regard Rome and the servants of Rome as enemies. That friction and prejudice were what fueled the clashes between Samrmation and Woad on the battlefield.

However, in this case, things were decidedly different. Despite the personal grudge Arthur bore against the Woads, he would never have been able to bring himself to kill an innocent person, even if that person just happened to be Woad. And for the knights themselves, they were rather unsure what to think of Anaria. Having met the Woads numerous times in battle, they were now forced to deal with the challenge of trying to live with one of them in their midst constantly.

For herself, she seemed to defy all description. Having been used to the war cries and whoops of attacking Woads, they had never expected to find her so quiet. Indeed, she said only what was necessary and kept silent and to herself the rest of the time. That was not to be taken for a sign of weakness. Her skill in arms, not to mention her quickness of limb, had been more than proved on their first encounter with her. She always seemed to be aware of what was going on around her and alert to any signs of possible danger. And she made it no secret that she believed might very well come from the knights themselves. She seemed to watch them with more intensity than the surrounding countryside at times. The knights tried to ignore her as much as they could. However, they would have been lying if any of them had said that they did not find her presence (not to mention her gaze), a little disconcerting.

The only one who seemed not in the least affected by the latest addition to the company was Tristran himself. He talked to her as little (if not less), than the other knights, but since Tristran hardly spoke to anyone in the first place, this came as no surprise whatsoever. And since he kept aloof and to himself more often than not, the fact that he was doing the same now (if a bit more than was normal, even for him), it raised no suspicion. Some of them might have even have envied the ease with which Tristran seemed to disregard the existence of Anaria, or felt the discomfort which she sometimes which she sometimes aroused.

But if any of the knights could have glanced into the dark secrets that lurked in Tristran's heart and mind, they would very well have rethought that opinion, for it was Tristran that was feeling the most from Anaria's presence, and it certainly wasn't indifference.

How much he lay awake at night, simply staring her sleeping form, wrestling with his desire to think that he was watching the woman he had one loved. How his heart leaped with an unexpected joy on the rare occasions that he heard her speak, because in the heard the music of his love; How he struggled to rationally tell himself that this sudden imagining of Isolde would end only in disaster, because there was no way that this woman could be her, though she moved, spoke and moved much like her, she could not be her. He had loved one woman with an unadulterated passion. He had remained faithful to her and her memory alone for the past eight years, he wasn't going to let that all disappear in the course of a few days because Isolde just happened to have a double. And yet there is only so much that rational thought can say that will be listened by a heart where yet some hope survived. Despite Tristran's repeated denials, he still found himself watching, imagining and hoping for he knew not what. Indeed, had the knights known of Tristran's inner struggle, they would not have wanted to trade places with him for the world.

And he was not the only one. Anaria, too, was feeling the effects of his presence. Every so often, she would catch him staring at her with his intense, nearly all-seeing gaze. But, as soon as he caught her looking at him, he averted his eyes, and went back to whatever it was that he had been doing beforehand, which made her question why she had been looking at him in the first place, for often she would catch herself stealing glances at the dark scout, for no other reason than her eyes pulled her magnetically to his face. She told herself that there was no reason, when really she knew perfectly well the reason why. It was because she saw the echo of a memory which she had hoped to have forgotten.

From the moment she had seen him, the dark ruggedness of his face had brought into her mind the face of the man that had stolen her heart completely. He spoke but rarely, and never to her, but still her ears caught every word he said, heard the sound of his voice which was as if the power of a distant clap of thunder had mixed with the rough music of the lone wolf's cry echoing through the night. His every movement was a study in grace, those dark, black eyes were as deep and roiling as the sea after a great storm. Even the way which he spoke to his animals reminded her of the memory of her heart. He treated both his horse and his hawk with as much respect as he would any man, if not with more tenderness than the men which he served with. However, Anaria could tell despite his reserve that he held the other men in high regard, especially their commander. He would be good man to have fight on your side, but he would be dangerous to cross.

In short, everything about him was so like Tristran, she sometimes allowed herself, for a few seconds to imagine that he might be alive, and sitting within a few paces of her.

But the human heart, though it can hope for many years, is a very delicate thing. Anaria's heart was broken and scarred, by wounds that seemed as fresh and painful as they had been made yesterday. She had been hurt to many times; she was not yet ready to believe what her heart was telling her.

And so, these two kept apart, but always something was pulling them together, something that they could not identify and was swiftly becoming stronger than they were able to fight against.

* * *

The days passed on. With Anaria's guidance, they followed trails which were sometimes nearly invisible to the untrained eyes of the knights. Some of them still weren't entirely sure if they were continuing through the forest, or were just going around in circles. However, as none of them saw any signs of Woads, they continued to grudgingly follow her.

But after five days, Arthur, who was by far the most skeptical of the company was beginning to have other ideas. So, he decided to talk it over with the one person who would be able to understand the problem. One morning, before the rest of the camp had begun to stir, he sought out Tristran, who had been left with the responsibility of the last watch. In quiet tones, the two of them conversed back and forth about the situation.

"Anaria told me that we are a little less than a day's ride from the edge of the forest. She has proved herself trustworthy so far, but I am still a long way from accepting her word completely."

"So you think that she is lying?" asked Tristran

"I do not know." Said Arthur, with a sigh, "This woman, she is an enigma, she is a person that I cannot tell if she is an enemy or ally, or possibly something else. She has led us this far without causing trouble, but I don't doubt that she would betray us if the opportunity presented itself." Arthur paused, looked around him to make sure that they were still talking in relative privacy before he began speaking in an even more secretive fashion. "I want you to scout the trail with her today. Watch her carefully. If she thinks that she could stand a chance of escape with only one pair of eyes watching her, than I do not doubt she will try to take advantage of it. How she reacts with you will determine whether or not she has been telling us the truth."

"And is she hasn't?" Tristran asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Than we will have to find our way alone." He turned to look at Tristran, who knew exactly what Arthur was saying, "Do what you have too, Tristran. I am depending on you."

Reluctantly, Tristran nodded.

In a short time, the rest of the knights, along with Anaria were up and moving. Anaria had made it a point to not sleep to close to the other men, though it was sometime difficult to find out the lone between being too near and to far, she and Arthur had clashed many times on this particular point, but she had been determined not to put herself into a position where she might compromised.

As usual, the knights were staying as far away from her as possible, which was just fine with her. She had no desire for anymore contact than was necessary. As she was rolling up her bedroll, however, she began to get the feeling that she was being watched, though not by human eyes. Turning her head, she saw to her great surprise, a hawk perched on the ground a few feet from her. The hawk had mottled brownish-red feathers and powerful feet with curved black talons that looked dangerous. It's piercing yellow eyes stared at her, almost curiously.

Anaria looked around her, half wondering if the bird might be looking at someone else, but there was no one close by who would have merited such a scrutinizing stare. Half embarrassed that she had even entertained the notion, she back to the bird. She could tell, on closer inspection that this was no ordinary bird of prey; this hawk was staring at her with a light in its eye hat made it clear she was no dumb animal.

Cautiously, Anaria held out her hand to the bird, "Hello there." She said, softly, "Are you here for some specific purpose, or did you just fly in for a visit?"

The hawk, or course, made no answer, but she got the impression that the bird knew what she was saying. The hawk hopped towards her until she was within touching distance of Anaria's hand. Still staring at her in the same curious manner, she nipped at Anaria's fingers gently, as if trying to understand what she was about.

"Well, you certainly don't seem to be lost." Commented Anaria, smiling a little at the hawk's antics. The hawk, apparently perceiving that Anaria was not a threat, bumped its head against her hand, an unspoken indication that she had seemed to have accepted Anaria's presence.

Anaria began to gently stroke the bird's feathers. The hawk made no more, either to come closer or back away.

"I see that you're making a new friend."

Anaria jumped at the sound of the voice, and the hawk backed off a few feet, hissing in sudden aggression. Anaria turned to look behind her, to see the knight that was called Dagonet, sounding a few paces from her, smiling in an almost friendly way. Anaria was more disposed to give this one a fair hearing. Dagonet seemed to have some understanding of her needs, and he hadn't treated her with complete suspicion from day one. Anaria might have even said that he respected her, but she never would have said it out loud. The signs of this had been small, a kind smile here, and an encouraging nod there. He had also not joined in throwing out a thinly veiled insult which many of them, especially the squat, muscular one called Bors seemed to delight in greeting her with every morning and at every opportunity. Thusly, instead of responding to his comment with a cold stare and walking away, she stayed where she was and stared levelly back at him.

"Perhaps I try to make my friends where I can find acceptance and respect. It is hard to be amenable to those who only seem to understand mistrust and suspicion."

"Strange you should respect in the present company." He nodded to the bird, who was eyeing him with evident distaste. "That hawk, Onora, no one but Tristran can even come near her. Some of the other knights have nearly lost a few fingers by simply coming to close."

"Tristran?" said Anaria, her attention caught by the sound of the all too familiar name. Despite herself, she found that she was listening closely to the words which Dagonet next was speaking.

"Yes, Tristran. Arthur's scout, the tall, dark one who keeps to himself."

"I know who he is." Said Anaria, trying to regain control of herself, "I just have never caught his name."

"That doesn't surprise me. Tristran makes it his business to be invisible. He probably would be slightly disappointed if he even knew that you had noticed him."

"Does he have any reason to feel that way?"

Dagonet shook his head. "It is not my place to reveal the deepest secrets that a man carries inside him. And Tristran carries more secrets, more closely than anyone I have ever met before. But he had a good reason to be quiet. Suffice it to say that we have all undergone suffering, but Tristran has endured pain that would killed any other man."

Anaria shifted her gaze slightly to look behind Dagonet, where the scout in question was saddling his horse. She felt she had just been plunged into icy cold water. Her mind was whirling with what Dagonet had unwittingly revealed. She had not yet heard his name spoken until now, and what Dagonet said of the secrets which he kept and the suffering which he had endured was beginning to make her wonder, and hope for something that she could not say. With what Dagonet had said, with what she had seen, now that she knew his name, could it be possible that... she wasn't sure if she could finish that thought.

"Take my advice." Said Dagonet, who seemed to have noticed that her attention had wondered and where. "Don't get involved with him. One of the things I can tell you, his heart was broken, a long time ago, and he has never been able to get over it. You might come to regret your actions if you became entangled with him in any way."

Though her mind was reeling, Anaria still managed to smile, half-heartedly. "Why should you be so concerned so much? It seems strange that you should care for the safety of an enemy."

Dagonet looked long and hard at Anaria. "Do not assume," he said, in a soft, but firm voice, "that all of us are against you. Your people have never been _my_ enemy. How much the others think that, I cannot say, but whenever I met your people in battle, it was never out of hatred that I attacked."

"But you still killed my people." Anaria replied, pointedly.

Dagonet nodded. "Yes, I have. And your people have killed those who were close to me. When in battle, we must do what it takes to survive. Even you must see the necessacity of that. You don't have to like it, it can only be accepted and move on. It is what is done after the battle that truly matters. One cannot let killing and bloodshed rule one's life."

"You are wise." Said Anaria, after a moment of consideration. "I do not seek battle for glory or joy. But I have to fight for the freedom of my people, and as long as Rome holds sway in Britain, I cannot back down from them. Nor, do I think, I could call you my ally, as much as I might like too."

"Is that a complement?"

"That is the closest to a complement that you are going to get from me, so I suggest that you enjoy it."

"Than I shall take it. Only think about what I have said regarding Tristran. Besides the fact that I do not wish any harm to you because of your heritage, a part of me would hate to see you injured."

Anaria raised her eyebrows. "Is the reason for that a secret which cannot be revealed?"

Dagonet smiled. "Not really, I can reveal at least part of it. You remind me of someone from a long time ago. An extraordinary woman and a remarkable healer who saved my life and I swore that I would one day repay her, a fact that caused her no small amount of annoyance I can assure you.

"To be sure. Tell me, this woman, did she give you her heart?"

Dagonet's smile faded and his face grew somber, almost sad. "No, nor did I ever desire it. Her heart, her heart was pledged to another."

Before she could enquire any further, their conversation was suddenly interrupted.

Tristran came riding up on his horse. The hawk, who had been uninterested in the conversation between the two humans and had been preening herself while they were talking, gave a small cry of joy when she saw Tristran coming. Taking off from her perch on the guard, she flew over to him and landed on his outstretched arm. Her behavior towards Tristran was markedly different from what she had shown Dagonet or even Anaria. With Tristran, Onora acted as if she were with a kindred spirit. Tristran seemed to be able to understand her wordless cries. The hawk was t ease with Tristran, taking the meat gently from his outstretched fingers. For a few seconds, it seemed that Tristran and his bird were in a place that no one else could enter. But than, he turned to Anaria and abruptly asked, "Are you ready?"

Anaria who been so caught up in watching the two of them interacting, sputtered at first for an answer, "Yes, I will be in just a few minutes."

"See that you are." Said Tristran, "I won't wait long." With that last statement, he turned his horse around and trotted away.

Anaria watched him go, than turned to see that there was a faint smile on Dagonet's face. "Tristran is not one to stand on ceremony."

"So, I noticed."

"Well, you had better get going. He wasn't lying."

Anaria gave a rare smile. "I would have been ready before now if you hadn't come along and distracted me."

"In that case, I'll leave you alone." He started to leave, but he turned his head once more to look at her, "And whether or not you like it, Anaria, you have made a friend today." And with that, he left to rejoin the others.

Anaria watched him for a few seconds, before turning back to restart her preparations. For some reason that she couldn't put into words, she was glad that Dagonet wanted to consider her as a friend. And what was even more surprising, she found that she was beginning to consider him a friend, too.

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Next chapter: A very romantic chapter when Tristran and Anaria finally come face to face with the truth of who each other really are.


	13. Revelation

Well, here it is, the long awaited chapter of recognition. I finally give these characters a break and let them have a few happy moments. Hopefully, this will be satisfactory for all you who read too.

As usual, I own nothing, I don't even own a house or a car. But I do own my own computer so I guess that has to coount for something.

Revelation:

A few hours later, Anaria and Tristran were riding along the trail. They had long left the company behind them, and the trail which they were following was overshadowed by great trees and as the sun had been hidden by the think clouds of winter, all around them it seemed grey and gloomy.

Once they had left the camp, they had spoken few words, and with good reason. They found themselves alone for the first time since when they had first encountered each other. And now, they had nowhere to hide from the memories which floated like whispers across their minds. They were now both fully aware of the feeling in their hearts which seemed to be pulling them together. Neither of them spoke, the only sound was the steady cadence of their mount's hooves against the hard-packed earth and the occasional shriek of some bird or beast in the depths of the forest which they could not identify.

Anaria found herself stealing side-long glances at Tristran. Strange, a few hours ago, she had been totally unaware of what he was called, now that she knew his name, everything seemed clearer and everything which she had tried to deny was now swiftly dissipating. Everything he did, from the way his keen eyes scanned the forest, the way he seemed to hear even the slightest breath of wind moving through the tree, even to the way he rode his horse spoke to her, telling her that she needed to believe what she was beginning to suspect. How could there have been anyone so like Tristran, unless it was really him? It sounded totally absurd, but it was the only explanation.

But suspecting the truth and actually putting it into words are two very different things. Anaria wouldn't have been able to speak what she as thinking and Tristran certainly didn't seem to be thinking the same thoughts. So they continued on in silence.

At last, they stopped. Tristran seemed to listening for something, his eyes deliberately avoiding Anaria's face. "I think we need to dismount for awhile, continue on foot and make sure that the path can be traveled by the horses."

Anaria was puzzled by this statement. "It becomes a little narrower later on, but there will be more than enough room for the horses to walk on."

Tristran fixed her with his dark eyes, the expression on his face leaving no room for argument, "Without meaning to doubt your word, I should like to see for myself. Arthur told me to be sure."

Anaria held her tongue from saying that Arthur probably ordered him to do a lot of other things. She knew what this little charade was, it was so Arthur could see whether or not she was telling the truth, whether she could be trusted or not.

They dismounted and went a few dozen feet up the narrow trail. Tristran made sure that he had gone a little ways in front of her, so it seemed as if she were out of his view. "I think that we should-"

Anaria made her break then. She darted away, hoping that she would be able to elude the scout in the thick tree growth that surrounded the path. But Tristran had been expecting such a move and moving swiftly, he was able to cut her off. He grabbed her before she had gone more than ten feet. His arms encircled her, and despite her struggles, he held her fast.

"So, you were planning to escape." growled Tristran, darkly in her ear. He turned her around and stared straight in to her eyes. Despite the imminent danger to her life, Anaria's heart was racing, with an emotion that couldn't really be called fear. "He agreed to let you go, he treated you with the first mercy I have ever seen him give to one of your kind. And this is how you repay him?"

"Can you blame me? Arthur is a Roman. I have no idea that he would have kept his word. Why did send me out alone with you? Was he counting on me trying to escape, so you could kill me and than he would have an excuse to be rid of me?"

"He has been proved right. Perhaps it's for the best that he did plan it this way."

"And you think me mad for not trusting him?" challenged Anaria.

Tristran pushed her away. He was angry, too angry at the moment to speak. He was angry at this woman, but he was also angry with himself, angry that he should be feeling something that he had not felt for years. His blood was heated and coursing through his veins like a mad fire. He felt short of breath. When he looked at her, she was all he could she, the entire world condensed in one person. He cursed this unlooked for feeling. How could he forget the memory of Isolde so easily? For not only was this woman like Isolde in looks, in this moment, she seemed to be her ghost made flesh and blood, everything from the fire snapping in her eyes to the proud tilt of her head, in all the smallest details. He didn't know which the worst torture was, seeing her standing before him like this and allowing himself to believe that it could be her, or knowing that it could never be real.

Tristran suddenly felt that he couldn't stand this torment any longer. He was not strong enough to face this again. "Go." He whispered to her softly.

This caught Anaria by surprise, "What did you say?"

"I said go." Tristran didn't care what Arthur might say or what might be said among the knights. He didn't want the daily reminder of pain. He only wanted this woman to be gone. "Go. Rejoin your people. I'll cover your absence to Arthur. It will be easy to say you're dead. He won't waste time looking for you. You'll be safe." He had turned away from her, hoping that within the next few seconds to hear her disappearing into the forest. But he heard no such thing. He waited. Still nothing. He turned back around, feeling slightly annoyed. He turned back around and there she was, staring at him with an expression that could only be described reluctantly intrigued, as if she wanted to leave, but found him so fascinating that she couldn't do so.

"You won't be getting another opportunity like this, so I suggest you take it."

"Why are you so eager to let me go _again_? You had me at your mercy once, why are you willing to let me go again?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That day, on the battlefield, when my people attacked the caravan. You had me unarmed; you could have killed me without blame. Why didn't you?"

The reminder of that event didn't help Tristran's mood. Angry and desperate for her to leave, he came toward her and grabbed her arm with a grip that resembled iron. Anaria couldn't avoid his gaze, which her pierced her eyes like two dark arrows, searching her soul for some hidden meaning behind the question.

When Tristran spoke once more, his voice was slow and deliberate, as if each word were a test for him, as if he were trying to control some great emotion. "Why do you insist upon torturing me? If you were not flesh and blood, I would say that you were a ghost who had come back from the dead to haunt me." He released her, walked a few steps away and spoke again in a voice that was jagged with harsh sarcasm. "And if you a ghost, it would naturally be useless to kill you, you would just come back. I could not kill you then and I cannot kill you now. Do you want to know why?" He didn't wait for a reply, but simply went on. "I could not kill you because you are the memory of what I have tried so hard to forget. You are the likeness of the most precious thing I ever had and you expect me to kill that? Even one such as I has a soul, however hard that might be to believe, and we all have our limits. You are mine." He turned his piercing gaze on her once more. "Does _that _answer your question?"

Anaria's entire mind was reeling. What was she hearing? She couldn't ignore these signs any longer. Something was happening here and she felt suddenly possessed by a strong urge to discover what was going on. Tristran had turned away from yet again. He was clearly hoping that she would leave, but she had no intention of doing so. But she asked quietly. "What was her name?"

The question caught Tristran off-guard. He turned back to her. "What?"

"The woman that you loved, what was her name?"

"What makes you think I was talking about a woman?"

"Do you think you are the only one who has never known loss?" she questioned, "No one could speak of such a loss like yours and not have loved very deeply. I know of loss. I can tell when it has left an indelible mark on a man. What was she like? Was she beautiful?"

Tristran was silent for a moment. When he did speak, his voice was low and heavy with emotion. "She was beautiful. But it was her soul that I fell in love with, her kindness, her belief that there was something in me beyond the fighter and the killer which Rome had made me into. I do not need to describe her to you. Look in the water and you will see her face staring back at you. As I see it now." He had no idea why he was telling her this. What could she possibly care about the tragedy of his past? And yet something drew him to speak, something that both thrilled and frightened him.

Anaria herself could hardly believe that this was happening. Every word which he spoke seemed to be a confirmation in and of itself of what she was finally allowing herself to believe. She was caught between dread and anticipation. She needed only one more thing to be sure. "And her name?"

Tristran seemed about to answer, but something kept him back. He couldn't go through with this, not again. Whatever was going on, here and now, he needed to stop it. "Please." He murmured, as he turned his back on her and began moving towards his horse, "just go."

Anaria began to panic. He was going to ride off and leave before she got her answer, and she couldn't let that happen. She had to know for certain, even if the answer destroyed her completely. She drove forward with her question, knowing that there could be no going back from this moment. "Was her name Isolde?"

Tristran froze when he heard this. It was as if that one question had turned him into a statue. Anaria waited, breathless with anticipation. The forest had gone very quiet and still, as if even nature sensed what was taking place and was as gripped with the tension as Anaria herself was feeling at this moment.

At long last, after what seemed a lifetime, Tristran spoke, slowly and haltingly, every word an effort for him to get out. "How do you know that name?"

"I know it because it is the name of a forgotten memory." Beginning to feel tears sting her eyes. "I remember a woman who was once a healer, but who could fight when there was a need. I remember how she was a Roman, but had the freedom of her spirit that no one could take away from her. She has a lot in common with me. We both loved a man who was called Tristran, and when she lost him, as did I, it seemed as though the sun had stopped shinning and everything upon the earth became as valuable as dust."

Tristran was staring at her like a man in a dream. "If you remember her name…" his voice was unsure, unsteady. All his firmness of strength had somehow deserted him. He felt like he was falling or flying, or maybe a little both. Distant memories allays at the back of his mind were slowly coming back to him. The sound of a laugh, the scent of soft hair, the passing ghost touches of a hand. Strange how such memories were the ones that caused him to feel the most powerfully. And for some reason, here and now, he was not afraid of fully embracing those memories. "You are her in almost every way. If you were of the same name, than I might allow myself to believe."

"Is that all that's holding you back?" asked Anaria, "A simple name. A name does not tell the true worth of a person. Would have loved her if she had another name, the name of an enemy?"

"She was a Woad, by birth at least. By even for that, even if she had lived all her life as Woad, I would have loved even than." He took a step closer and asked the question which he was almost afraid to ask. "And what name exactly did you have in mind?"

A breathless moment followed before she answered. "My own, Anaria."

Silence. Tristran knew by now that he wasn't falling anymore, he was flying. A wordless joy seized him, a joy he could feel with every bone in his body, but also trepidation, trepidation that he might wake up and find this all to be a dream. "Isolde, Anaria. Could they be one in the same woman? Has one died, while another rose up in her place?"

Anaria now could not stop the tears from falling down her face tears of long aching pain and a sudden, new-found joy. "Anaria came out of Isolde, but Isolde still lies within Anaria. Both are alive and both are who I am."

Tristran came forward slowly. Anaria didn't move. He reached out his hand to touch her face, cautiously, as if he were afraid that by touching her, she would suddenly vanish and he would be left alone again. "You are real enough." He said, and for the first time since Anaria had caught sight of him, a smile was beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. "Although if it were any other time or place, I would have said that I was dreaming."

"Maybe we are dreaming." said Anaria.

'If that is so," said Tristran, closing the space between him so that he breathed his next words against her mouth. "Than I will never wake up from this moment, then I will be glad."

He pressed his lips against hers. It was almost as if he needed that final physical reassurance that was no dream, and this woman standing in front of him was the person that he had been so sure he had lost. Anaria stiffened for a moment, startled by the contact, but it was not long before she felt herself leaning against the warmth of Tristran's body soaking up the sensations of her mouth working against hers.

When they had parted at last, they were breathless, both from the kiss and from an unexpected joy. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Indeed, there is very little that they could have said, for who can speak coherently when one has just experienced a miracle?

At last, Tristran spoke, his voice quivering, "So, it is true."

Anaria's tears were now running openly down her face, and she made no attempt to hide them. "I thought that there was something about you that seemed familiar. I almost didn't allow myself to hope."

"But, how? I thought you were dead. The story reached us that you had been killed in a Woad ambush."

"I nearly was. But than one of the Woads recognized me; I have been told that I am near the image of my mother. The Woad who spared me was one of her kinsmen. My given name was Anaria and it is the one that I go by now. I have been living with the Woads ever since, for the past eight years, trying so hard to forget who I was, but I never could."

"Nor could I forget you. Can this really be happening? I am still half afraid that it cannot be."

He drew her into his arms once more, hugging her to him tightly. Anaria smiled and closed her eyes, relishing the familiarity of his embrace, a memory she had never hoped to experience in the flesh again.

They could very well have stayed like this till the ending of the earth, and have been more than satisfied. However, there soon came the sound of distant, but swiftly approaching hoofbeats. They jumped away from each other, almost as if they were fearful of being discovered in a compromising position.

"Arthur." said Tristran, in a low voice.

"He could have come at a better moment." observed Anaria, rather irritated.

"I agree with you." Said Tristran, "But we cannot worry about that now. He's going to want to know something. I think he is beginning to run out of patience."

"I have led you right. If you follow this trail, you should be out of the forest in just a few hours.'

Tristran glanced at her as she mounted they mounted their horses. "You're sure?"

Anaria swung up onto Celeste. "Of course, I'm sure. I may exaggerate to Arthur, but I wouldn't dream of doing the same to you."

When Arthur and the rest came upon Tristran and Anaria, they found them both in what appeared to be a deep conference. Tristran turned when he heard them coming. "Arthur, I was not expecting you this soon."

"Do you have any news?" Arthur asked. He cut his eyes momentarily towards Anaria. Tristran knew that he was not merely asking about the state of their journey through the forest.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Said Tristran, doing his best to keep his face and voice in the same neutral aloofness that it normally was. However, right now, when things were anything but normal, it was hard for him to keep up the act. "Anaria has informed me that if we follow this trail, we should be out of the forest by this afternoon."

"And do you have anything else to tell me?" Arthur asked him, still suspicious.

Tristran shook his head. "No, Arthur, nothing."

Arthur looked from Anaria to Tristran, almost as if he were trying to scrutinize the truth of their words. Finally, he said, "Very well. From here, we travel together. I want to give as united a front as we can when we get to where we are going."

"Do you really think that we will really encounter much trouble?" asked Lancelot.

"Let's just say that I would prefer to show the good lord that we mean business."

Anaria and Tristran had joined in the formation by this time and as Tristran passed him, Arthur asked him in a low voice. "Well, what do you think?"

"We can trust her, Arthur." Was Tristran's short answer. "She kept her promise. You should plan on keeping hers, regardless of what her bloodline might be."

That seemed to pacify Arthur, and the group began to move forward quickly through the trees, spurred on by the promise of being able to see the sky again, which, for many of them, would be nothing short of a relief. They had seen enough of that particular forest to last a lifetime. But for Anaria and Tristran, having found what they thought would be forever lost to them knew that from then on, their lives would never again be the same.

Next chapter: will probably be a short one. Basically, it will just be Anaria managing to stay on with the knights and when she finds out just where it is that they are going, she begins to wonder if she might be just one step closer to rescuing Guinevere.

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So, I really hope everyone liked that. The next chapter I am afraid might be a bit of a let down, as it is going to be a filler chapter. But after that will come the good stuff with Marius' estate. I'll probably post those two chapters together. Look out for the entrance of Guinevere.

Finally, read and review.


	14. Suspecting Secrets

Hello there, all my faithful readers. I have decided to post these next two chapters together, because this one is more filler than anything else. Every story needs to have some of it, but luckily, there is a lot to chew on in the next chapter. Anyway, with that said, I hope that everyone enjoys these chapters.

Suspecting Secrets:

Arthur seemed more inclined to believe Anaria that he had been before, but even he was surprised when they came out of the woods sooner than expected. The trees petered out on either side of them, and finally gave way to rocky scrubland. The knights did try to hide their collective relief at finally being out of the suffocating woodlands and seeing the sky above them, even if they were now fully aware of just how far north they had come. The air was cold and bit into their skin like a hundred icicles. It was clear that winter had descended on this place faster than it did in the south.

Arthur turned to Anaria, a look of deeper respect evident in his expression. "You have kept your word Anaria. Now, I am honor-bound to keep mine. You're free to go."

Anaria had not thought of this. She had more or less forgotten the deal that she had made with Arthur. It seemed so far away, and so much had changed in such a short time; she knew that she could not now leave Arthur's company of knights. Thinking quickly, she responded, "My thanks, Arthur, but if it is all the same to you, I would like to remain with you."

Arthur and the rest of the knights all stared at Anaria, too shocked and surprised for a moment to say anything. The exception to this was Tristran, who was seemingly distracted by the arrival of Onora, who had just lighted on his arm, but he was actually listening to everything that was being said with careful attention.

When at last Arthur was able to speak, he had not been able to entirely banish the stupefied shock from his voice. "Why do you want to do such a thing?"

"Why should my reasons matter? You have given me the choice to go anywhere and so I'm choosing to come with you. Do have any serious objections?"

Arthur stared at her, still perplexed at this unexpected request. "None that I can conjure at the moment."

To dispel (at least she hoped), any lingering doubts on Arthur's part, Anaria said, "I can still be of use to you. I know this region better than any of you. I can guide you to wherever it is you are going, probably faster than you would be able on your own."

Arthur had kept mum about the extent of their mission. For good reason, he hadn't trusted Anaria, but she had led them through the forest without leading them astray. Perhaps she could be trusted again. He had no more than a general idea of where they were going and he wanted to get out of the north as quickly as possible.

"If I may, Arthur," said Tristran, who just seemed to be turning from a silent conference with Onora. "The Saxons are on the move. They're little less than a day-and-a-half away. I know little more than that, but we have to hurry."

Arthur looked hard at Tristran and Anaria in turn. "If your desire is truly to come with us, than I have no objection, if the rest of my men do not."

Silence greeted this statement. Maybe the knights did not have any objections, but at the same time, they had grown used to Anaria's presence. They might have been glad to see her go, but she would not disturb them very greatly if she stayed either.

"Well, then, perhaps you could give us some idea of which direction we might go?" said Arthur, "I do not have a clear idea of the landscape this far north, though I have some idea of where we are going."

"Before I can help you find your destination," said Anaria, "I need to know where you are going."

"We need to rescue the family of a Roman lord named Marius Honarius. They have an estate in this region. Their safe return to the Wall is imperative for the release of my men."

Anaria nodded, thinking quickly. "I know this place you speak of. And I have even seen it from afar. I can get you there, and in a relatively short time."

"Very well. If you want to continue to help us, you are welcome. I believe you have earned our trust."

Anaria smiled, grimly, "Perhaps we are closer to understanding each other than we at first thought, Arthur Castus." She gestured to the northeast, "We ride that way. I cannot say anything more definite until we come across signs that I recognize." Arthur nodded and than turned back to the knights. "We're going to be making up for the time that we've lost over the past few days. We ride hard, rest little."

The knights knew what this meant, and it was the kind of pace which they thrived on. Even as they began to move their horses into a gallop, Arthur did not miss the look which passed Anaria and Tristran. Their relief and happiness were all too evident. And strangely, Arthur was beginning to suspect that it had to do with his decision to allow Anaria to remain with them. He didn't regret the choice. Over the past few days, he had come to grudgingly respect Anaria and her abilities. Now, since she had kept her word and was willing to help them when there was seemingly no benefit to herself, he felt prepared to trust her with his life and the lives of those who followed him.

But there was something about that look which struck Arthur. Arthur knew Tristran, as he knew everyone of the knights. He knew Tristran's emotions and his way of thinking. Perhaps none but he would have been able to see that in a short time, something had happened to change his scout. Arthur may not have been able to put it into words, but being a man of deep faith, he knew a few things about a man's soul, and something had happened that had changed Tristran's and it had something to do with this Woad woman. They both shared a secret with each other, and before Anaria left them, Arthur intended to find out just what that secret was.

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See, not a lot happens, but I had to explain why Anaria would stay withthe knights somehow, and I do try to make even filler seem in character. Anyway, just push the little"next" button and keep on reading.


	15. Marius' Estate

Marius' Estate:

With Anaria's help, the knights were able to find the estate of Marius Honarius little less than a day later. Once they were within sight of the estate, Tristran, acting on earlier orders from Arthur to scout how far the Saxons were from them, turned his horse towards the east and galloped off. Anaria watched him go with a slight pang. She was half afraid that now that they were reunited (which was in itself still a hard thing for her to grasp), if he disappeared from sight, it would all turn out to be a dream. But such thoughts were not helpful, to her or anyone else, so she buried them at the back of her mind, turning away from the sound of her own fears.

The estate of Marius was situated in a wide valley, hemmed in by forest land on two sides, with the mountains towering above the scene in the east. The estate consisted of a large manor house, with finely manicured lawns and gardens, all dead and grey from the sharp bite of winter. The main house and gardens were surrounded by a think stone wall. Dotted around the wall, were crude huts and loam houses. Even from a distance, some of them looked like they were ready to fall down. The contrast between the decadence and luxury of a Roman estate with the squalor and poverty of those who worked his fields was so blunt as to be a tad sickening.

"Is that it?" asked Lancelot.

"There are no other estates in these parts that are so finely decorated." said Anaria. There was a hint of contempt in her voice.

"It is the estate of Marius and his family," Arthur confirmed, "The people we have been sent to rescue."

Bors made a sour face, and snorted. "I hope they appreciate it." (AN That last exchange was from the novelization by the way).

"Knowing the Romans, they probably won't." muttered Anaria, but the others heard her and for the first time, they had to admit that the Woad woman in their midst had spoken the truth.

Arthur said nothing, either to disagree or agree with Anaria's statement. Instead, he merely said, "Come, let's get this over with."

With that, he kicked his horse into a gallop. The others followed suit, as they followed Arthur down into the valley and into the estate of Marius.

* * *

As the strange horsemen approached the string of huts, people who had been working in the fields saw them and came running. A murmur, half of fear and half of curiosity, ran through the villagers.

Armed guards, who had been patrolling the walls, closed the heavy iron gates into the estate's main house. "Who are you?" called down one of the guards, (mercenary by the look of him, Anaria thought).

"I am Arthur Castus." Arthur replied, "Commander of the Sarmation Knights sent by Bishop Germanous of Rome. Open the gate."

Apparently, this was good enough for the mercenary, who disappeared to do Arthur's bidding. While they waited, Anaria found herself looking around at her surroundings. This close, the contrast between the lives of the Romans and the peasants who toiled the land for meager repayment was even more obvious. The serfs were little more than walking skeletons, with ragged clothing that barely protected them from the cold. Many of them seemed to walk with bowed shoulders and stooped heads, as if the weight of their suffering was too much for them to bear. And yet, even as the crowd gathered around them, Anaria could see the faint light of hero worship in their eyes as they stared at the legendary Arthur and his knights. So, she thought, stories of Arthur's deeds extended even to this remote place.

A few seconds after the mercenary had disappeared, the gates opened once more and out came a small, corpulent man who looked like he had lived all his life in the lap of luxury, and who had probably never had a hard day's work in his entire life. And he had acquired all the side effects that came from such a lifestyle. Pride, sloth and having his orders obeyed instantly, one who was not afraid to punish severely. In short, here was an example a typical Roman lord. And Anaria found that she immediately hated him on sight.

Anaria's opinion could very well have even mirrored by the other knights, but Marius was totally unaware of it. He thought of himself as a very important and decent sort of man, and now he was delighted to be playing genteel host to such important visitors. "It is a wonder you have come. Good Jesus! Arthur and his knights." He reached out towards Galahad's horse, presumably to give the animal a welcoming slap, but the horse shied, sensing the inward wickedness of the man. Galahad, who didn't want the Roman anywhere near his mount, let alone touching her, shot Marius a warning glare, which Marius either choose to ignore completely or was totally unaware of. "You have fought the Woads, vile creatures." Anaria was none to flattered by this, even if Marius had said it with no insulting intent. She had to restrain herself from replying in kind.

Arthur was in no mood for idle chatter. He got right to the point. "Our orders are to evacuate you immediately."

That seemed to dampen Marius' jovial mood. He looked at Arthur, completely shocked. "But tha-that's impossible." He stammered.

Arthur ignored Marius and looked up at the ramparts. "Which is Alecto?"

Up above them, a young boy had appeared, alongside a middle-aged woman. Both were dressed in the fashion of Roman nobles, but even at a distance, Anaria felt that there was something different about them. She could not tell it was, exactly, perhaps it was that they seemed nobler and more humble than Marius. Whatever it was that spoke to Anaria, it made her look upon them with sympathy rather than with contempt.

The boy, who looked to about fifteen, answered Arthur's question, "I am Alecto."

"Alecto is my son." Said Marius, trying to play the role of a concerned father, "And everything we have is here in the land given to us by the pope of Rome." Anaria couldn't see why that shouldn't make someone else want to have it as well.

"Well, you're about to give it to the Saxons." said Lancelot, sarcastically.

"They're invading from the north." said Arthur.

This seemed to catch Marius off guard for a moment but than he quickly regained his composure. "Than Rome will send an army."

"They have. Us." was Arthur's short answer. "We leave as soon as you're packed."

Marius' earlier warm welcome had cooled considerably by this time. "I refuse to leave." He said, coldly, his tone becoming dangerous.

Marius was used to having his will obeyed; on his estate, his word was law, and those who disobeyed it could meet with a swift and harsh punishment. However, even Marius was smart enough to not try and enforce that philosophy on a man as important as Arthur. So, he decided to take out his anger on those who under his command. Marius turned his attention to look around at the villagers who standing around them, still gazing up at Arthur. "Get back to work." He barked.

Taking their cue from the Marius, the other mercenaries began hustling the villagers away, roughly pushing and pulling them. Anaria looked on in absolute horror, as did the other knights. They had not witnessed such harsh treatment before. These people seemed to be little better than slaves. By this time, both Alecto and the older woman had descended from the ramparts and were now watching the proceedings.

Arthur buried his mounting disgust and smoldering fury at the ill treatment. Dismounting, he came forward until he was nose to nose to Marius, or since he had the obvious advantages of both size and strength over the Roman lord, Arthur was more towering over Marius than approaching him as an equal. Marius, despite his bravado backed off a few steps, properly intimidated by Arthur's presence.

When Arthur spoke, his tone was deceptively calm, but the danger could not be missed. "If I fail to bring you and your son back, my knights can never leave this land, so you're coming with me if I have to tie you to my horse and drag you all the way to Hadrian's Wall myself." He paused, and than delivered a mocking bow, "My Lord." Dismissing Marius without so much as waiting for a reply, he turned to the woman who was standing slightly behind Marius, who was obviously his wife. "Lady, my knights are hungry."

Marius' wife, who was called Fulcina, struck Anaria. There was a dignity in her face and bearing that was almost tragic. But there was strength there as well, a strength born out of resilience and the need to survive. Anaria began to suspect that she and this woman had a few things in common. Fulcina cast a glance at her husband, seeking unspoken his permission to proceed. Marius knew that it was useless to argue any farther with Arthur, but he clearly was not happy to be giving up so easily. "Go." He commanded her, though his voice was peevish.

Fulcina, looking grateful that he had acquiesced, turned and seemed to float back to the house, reminding Anaria of a spirit, a spirit in mourning. Her husband followed her, visibly fuming and angry at this unexpected and unwelcome turn in his fortunes. Anaria could not say that she pitied him.

The exit seemed like a repressive cloud had just been lifted from the villagers' souls. They began to talk once more in low voices, obviously still in awe at these unexpected visitors. Arthur's mind was greatly troubled, not only by what he had seen of Marius, but also of the people that he was seeing around him. They had no idea of the destruction that was about to descend upon them. And when that destruction came, they would not be able to defend themselves? Arthur hated to even contemplate what their ultimate fate would be. True, he had only been sent to rescue the family and any other Roman commander would have just done that, unmindful of the fate of any of these lowly serfs. However, who would rescue them? Should these innocent people suffer needlessly?

It was in this vein of thought that Arthur suddenly caught sight of something else. In what seemed to be the village square, was an old man. His arms were chained above his head and his back was exposed to harsh elements. Ugly, deep scars, which looked like they had never been properly treated criss-crossed his back. The man was so weak he could barely stand up right. had his wrists not been chained, he would have fallen over.

Bors, not yet seeing what Arthur had observed, but clearly seeing that his commander was disturbed by something, tried to distract him. "Come," he said, gesturing to the house, "let's go."

Arthur didn't even hear him. His eyes were focused on the sight of human suffering before him and he could tear himself away. A hard set came about his dark, green eyes. Dismounting, he drew his swords and started to approach the man. Bors, along with many of the other knights looked heavenward, as if seeking patience. Too often had they seen Arthur do these kinds of things before, and they knew what was coming. Still, such was their loyalty that they would not let him go on alone. Bors drew his own sword and dismounted. Anaria herself found herself watching the following proceedings with a great deal of interest.

Many of those in the crowd followed Arthur at a short distance, curious as to what was going on. One of them, however, was bolder than the others and he approached Arthur and said, "Sir, you're famous? You're Arthur, aren't you? I'm Ganis, I'm a good fighter and I'm smart, I'd serve you proudly." Arthur made no response.

One of the monks approached Arthur, "Are you from Rome?"

Bors gave the monk a truly frightening look. "From hell." The monk immediately backed off, half wondering for a moment if Bors was speaking the truth.

Arthur arrived at the old man. The sight of the suffering before him was causing his anger to rise. "Who is this man?" he asked Ganis.

"He's our village elder?"

"What is this punishment for?" Arthur's voice was tight with rage. When no answer was forthcoming, he turned to Ganis and bellowed, "Answer me!"

Ganis seemed nervous as he answered, as if afraid that Marius might still be there, listening. "He defied our master, Marius. Most of the food we grow is sent out by sea to be sold; he asked that we keep a little more for ourselves, that's all." In face of the fact that Arthur did not stop him, Ganis began to grow bolder and his language became plainer. "My arse has been snappin' at the grass I'm so hungry. You're from Rome, is it true that Marius is a spokesman for God and that it's a sin to defy him?"

Arthur listened to all this, his temper mounting. After a moment of tense silence he suddenly pointed the blade at the crowd of people, who backed off nervously a few paces. As he spoke, Arthur's voice rang out clear and fierce in the cold air. "I tell you now, Marius is not of God. And you, _all _of you were first from your first breath." Arthur turned back to the chained man. Eyes flaming, he lifted Excalibur and brought it down in a blinding arc.

There was a loud clanging sound as the great sword sliced easily through the chains that were holding up the man, who fell heavily to the ground. Arthur looked back at the villagers, who appeared shocked at seeing such a bold move against Marius' power. "Help this man." No one moved. Arthur repeated the command, more forcefully this time. "Help him!" this time, a few people obeyed.

Arthur knew what he had to do. Perhaps it was neither prudent nor smart, but it was the right thing to do. "Now, hear me, a vast and terrible army is coming this way. They will show no mercy, spare no one. Those who are able should begin to move south to Hadrian's Wall. Those unable, shall come with us." He turned to Ganis, "You serve me now, get these people ready."

As the villagers began scrambling to get ready, Anaria found herself watching Arthur. For the first time, seeing why Merlin, despite their enmity, respected Arthur so deeply. What other commander would have wasted his time to attempt to rescue so many peasants? What other Roman would have risked so much to save so many innocent lives? In that moment, Anaria truly began to respect Arthur and finally saw what Merlin had seen for so long: that Arthur was the future beyond Rome and the leader which Britain so desperately needed.

* * *

Well, I hope that everyone liked these two chapters. Just as a heads up there might be a bit of a wait for the next installment, as I am working on the next few chapters of this story. I shall attempt to have it up in the shortest time that I can. But in the meantime, please be patient and don't think that I have abandoned this story, because I haven't. Anyway, please read and review.

Next chapter: we see just how far Marius and his minions are willing to go to punish those who defy them, all in the name of God. And Guinevere at last enters the story.


	16. Found in the Dark

Yes, here it is, a brand new chapter of Freedom to Love, Freedom to Live. No, I am not dead and have no plans to be in the present. I do hope that this chapter was worth the wait. Enjoy!

Found in the Dark:

A few hours later, the villagers had managed to gather themselves into something resembling an order, forming a rough caravan of carts and wagons, which contained nearly all their worldly possessions, not to mention all the supplies which they could scrap together at such short notice. There was also a whole cartful of Marius' goods (plus his own personal carriage to ride in). Arthur had only just been able to keep him from filling up a few more cartloads of the things which Marius owned. The exchange had not left either of them anymore endured to the other.

It was into this atmosphere of frenzied preparation that Tristran at last arrived. He had clearly been riding Erim hard, and the two of them looked out of breath and tired. He rode up to Arthur and reined his horse to a stop. Anaria was mounted nearby on Celeste, and was in an ideal place to overhear their conversation. She could tell by the look on Tristran's face that the news was not good.

"They have flanked us to the east," Tristran was saying, "they're coming from the south trying to cut off our escape. They'll be here before nightfall."

"How many?"

"An entire army."

"And the only way out is to the south?"

Tristran shook his head. "East. There is a trail heading east, across the mountains."

Anaria spoke up suddenly, "You mean the Southeastern Pass, don't you?"

"You know it?" questioned Arthur.

"Yes, quite well. It's an extremely pass to navigate, especially at this time of year, but there is a chance that we can lost the Saxons if we take it."

"It does mean that we would have to cross behind Saxon lines, but that's the one we should take." Tristran concurred, "Its disadvantages are many, but it's the only option we have left open to us."

Arthur took a moment to consider his options before he said, "Than we'll take the pass."

Tristran nodded, than looked past Arthur, as if seeking the caravan's presence for the first time. "Arthur," he asked, "Who are all these people?"

"They're coming with us." Was Arthur's short answer.

Tristran was skeptical. "Than we'll never make it."

That seemed like a signal for the drums to start; afar off they began to sound, the deep sound echoing and rolling off the mountains, filling the air, the very earth with an anthem of death. The peasants paused what they were doing and looked up, trying to discern from which direction the drums were coming from, the fear all to obvious on his face.

The harsh voice of a mercenary seemed to break the spell of anxiety. "Go on, get back to work."

Anaria looked around in the direction of the voice and saw that two mercenaries were overseeing the work of two monks who were walling up the doorway of a grim-looking building built into the side of the estate's wall. Arthur noticed it, too, and something about what was going on roused his suspicions. A determined look came into his eyes. Drawing Excalibur, he dismounted and moved toward them. The mercenary tried to intercept him. "Move." Said Arthur, warningly. They still kept coming forward. "Move." Said Arthur, again, sterner this time, holding Excalibur up in front of him. The rest of the knights, having noticed what was going on, had started to come over, many of them astride their fearsome steeds, their weapons drawn. "Move!" Arthur repeated. This time, the mercenaries got the message and wisely backed off.

"What is this place?" Arthur asked.

"You cannot go in there." said one of the monks, "No one goes in there, this place if forbidden."

Arthur was not of a mind to heed their command. With his sword leveled threateningly at them, he forced them to step aside.

From behind them, Marius, who had seen what was going on, came forward, "What are you doing? Stop this!" Galahad blocked Marius' way with his horse, effectively stopping him from going any further.

Arthur stepped up to the door which had only been half hidden by the stones which had been placed in front of it. Lancelot, seeing already what Arthur was intending to do, tried to remind him of the constraints under which they were operating, "Arthur, we have no time."

"Do you not hear the drums?" concurred Galahad.

No doubt, Arthur did hear the drums. But he would not leave without seeing what darkness lay beyond this door, a darkness which held a stench of evil. "Dagonet." Said Arthur.

Dagonet, who was stronger than a brick wall any day, knew what to do without being told. Dismounting, he started pounding the rocks with his large battle ax. It didn't take him long to make short work of the brick wall. When the door was exposed, Arthur turned to one of the mercenaries. "Key?" he inquired.

The mercenaries looked decidedly uncomfortable. "It is locked," one of them finally ventured, "from the inside."

Arthur heaved a frustrated sigh and nodded to Dagonet, who proceeded to batter down the door by using sheer, bodily force.

The stench which emanated from the deep yawning cavern of blackness was so intense that Anaria gagged. She had seen battlefields before, and she knew what that smell was: death.

Arthur took a torch from Jols, the knights' squire, and peered down into the dark, forbidding tunnel. Since it was quite obvious that Arthur was set on going inside, Lancelot wasn't about to let him do so alone. He dismounted, drew one of his twin swords and headed after his commander.

Anaria, as much as she hated the thought of going down into that pit, found that she also was dismounting, drawing her sword and moving to follow them. Before she could follow the two of them, Anaria felt a hand on her shoulder, "Anaria." Said Tristran, who was clearly worried about her course of action.

"Tristran." She replied, a plain appeal for him to allow her to go.

Tristran let her go, though he was evidently reluctant to do so. Anaria disappeared into the darkness, followed by Dagonet and Gawain, who was the last to go in, pushing the monks angrily before him.

The tunnel was wet and dark. As the stairs would their way deeper into the earth, the smell began to intensify. "What is this place?" Anaria found herself whispering, her voice echoing ghostly around the walls.

Lancelot turned to stare at her. "It's hell." He said, simply.

When they finally reached the bottom of the steeps, Anaria had to stop herself gasping with horror. Bodies of dead prisoners were hanging like grotesque decorations from the walls. They all appeared to be in various stages of decay and all had been mutilated in one way or another. In the eerily flickering light of the torch, instruments of torture lurked like monsters in the gloom. At the other end of the room, a long, sloping tunnel vanished into the darkness, both the left and right walls lined with cells. Anariaswallowed hard against the bile that was rising in her throat. Lancelot was right. This place was truly hell.

A monk, who had been muttering prayers in Latin at a small, makeshift alter at one end of the room, suddenly saw them approaching. He got up and came forward into the light. It looked to Anaria that he had not seen daylight for a long time. His skin was pale and his eyes were wild. Anaria could see that some type of terrible insanity had caused the monk's mind to snap completely.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" he asked, as though they were the ones at fault and not him. Anaria was almost tempted to run him through than and there, and only managed to not to do so with a great deal of restraint.

Lancelot moved toward the monk. "Out of the way," he demanded, lending a little persuasion with his sword in order to push the monk out of the way. As he stepped into the grim hallway, he looked all around him in evident horror, for what he saw in those cells was death. Looking into them, he saw tiny rooms, barely big enough for one man, some them filled with one more corpse, some looking as if they had been there for years, others could only have been dead for a few days. It was apparent that the monks had never bothered to clean out the cells before they put in new prisoners.

Lancelot turned his gaze on Arthur, who had just entered the room, and was surveying the sight before him in grim silence. A dark flame was blazing in Lancelot's eyes. "The work of your God?" he questioned, his voice tight with fury. "Is this how he answers your prayers?"

Arthur didn't answer right away, too revolted by what he was witnessing. "Whoever's work this is, we end now!" he said at last (AN from the novelization). He turned to the others and ordered sternly, "See if there's any still alive."

Lancelotneeded no second bidding. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to destroy the work of these so-called men of God. He struck one of the rusted chains that held up the door of one of the cells and looked inside. One of the monks, who was appalled at the apparent blasphemy which the knights were committing, suddenly grabbed Lancelotby the shoulders and shook him, "How dare you set foot in this holy place."

Lancelot, utterly enraged, grabbed the monk and stabbed him through the belly, killing him instantly. The insane monk stared at Lancelot in blank shock. "There was a man of God."

"Not my God!" cried Lancelot, heatedly; he was in no mood to be merciful or reasonable.

The rest of the knights and Anaria were setting about breaking open the cells and seeing if there were any survivors left from what was this charnel house of death. Anaria looked into the alcoves lining the walls and once more had to resist the impulse to wretch. The half rotted body of a young girl was crawling with rats and small worms, looking for anything else to feed on. Anaria drew back from the alcove as if something poisonous had bitten her. Gawain noticed her. Coming over, he asked, "Are you all right?"

Anaria gestured to the alcove, unable to bear the idea of looking at it again. Gawain glanced inside, than turned slowly to face her. Anaria almost expected him to have a slightly contemptuous view of her reaction, perhaps seeing it as another womanly weakness. However, to her surprise, his eyes and face were understanding. "It's all right. Not even I have seen anything such as this."

Dagonet was across the room from them, opening cells that were essentially a row of shallow pits set into the ground with heavy metal grates set over them. "This one's dead." He called, recoiling from the sight and smell of it's occupant.

"By the smell, they are all dead." Said Gawain, as he and Anaria joined the others, "And you," he hissed, coldly to the remaining monks, "you even move, you join him."

The search seemed to be fruitless; no one seemed to have survived this hell house. But at last, Dagonet opened one of the metal grates and saw that it contained a small boy. "Arthur." He called. He lifted the boy from the cell where he had been imprisoned and set him down gently. The boy seemed understandably afraid of the huge man who had rescued him, but Dagonet told the boy, in his gently stern way, "You must not fear me."

There did not seem to be anyone else alive. But in the last cell which Arthur looked into, in the glittering light of the torch, he saw her. She was a huddled figure, doing her best to hide from them or disappear, he was unsure which. Her face was grimy and pale, a stark contrast to her raven black hair and dark eyes, which were staring wide at Arthur. She was obviously frightened and exhausted, but there was also the faintest hint of defiance in her gaze, as though she had firmly decided in her mind that she was not going to submit to anyone who might have wished to bring her to their will.

It was that echo of defiance, which made Anaria's heart skip a beat. She could hardly believe it, could it be true? "Guinevere." She whispered so softly that no one heard her and none of them seemed to notice her reaction. However, the mission on which she had originally been sent by Merlin suddenly came back to her, and now she found that she had suddenly accomplished it, for she could not fail to recognize Guinevere. However, she had never seen her cousin like this. Guinevere had clearly been terrorized and tortured almost beyond her endurance.

Arthur slashed at the cell door, Excalibur making short work of the rusted chains. As the torchlight shone full upon her, Guinevere blinked and shielded her eyes from the bright light. Arthur stepped inside the cell and reached for her. She scuttled away, her eyes showing mistrust and suspicion. "Don't be afraid." Said Arthur, "We're here to help you."

Guinevere clearly did not believe him. Anaria stepped forward and knelt down next to Arthur. "Arthur," she said, quietly, "Let me."

Arthur, who was not quite sure what Anaria, was doing, but made way for her. Anaria crawled into the cell, which was barely big enough for both her and Guinevere. Guinevere's eyes widened in astonishment when she saw Anaria. "Guinevere, it's me, Anaria." Said Anaria, speaking in the Woad tongue, "You're father sent me to find you."

Slowly, she reached out and took one of Guinevere's hands. Guinevere seemed to wince, as if that one touch was enough to cause her pain. Anaria continued speaking in their language, "Guinevere, your hands are like ice."

Guinevere began trembling, as if she were trying to keep herself from weeping. She inched closer to Anaria and put her other hand on her face. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. It was as if she were trying to impart to Anaria all the horrors which she had suffered. Anaria felt sadness at Guinevere's pitiful condition. How had the strong daughter of Merlin been reduced to this? "Can you not speak?" she asked her cousin, desperately.

Guinevere shook her head in despair and buried her head against Anaria's shoulder. Even as she sought to comfort her cousin, Anaria began to feel anger. How dare that Roman monster Marius bring this suffering and dishonor upon one who should have been treated as a high princess. He would pay for this, in blood. "Guinevere, what did he do to you?"

Arthur and Lancelot had been watching this exchange silently, not moving to interfere in any way. They could not tell what was being said, but it was obvious that these two women somehow knew each other very intimately and Anaria was trying to comfort the unfortunate woman. Anaria turned her gaze upon the two knights. Guinevere also looked in their, a flash of her first suspicion coming into her eyes for a moment. Anaria, sensing her cousin's distrust, said soothingly, "Guinevere, it's all right, you can trust them. They are only here to help you."

Guinevere looked first at Anaria, than at Arthur, before nodding slowly. Anaria turned to Arthur, "Try now. Be gentle. Whatever they did to her, it has traumatized her to the point when she temporarily has lost the ability to speak."

Arthur came forward and though Guinevere did not seem exactly relieved to be rescued by someone like Arthur, she was too weak to attempt to fight. She allowed Arthur to pick her up and take her out of the cell. The others followed them, Gawain pushing the two hapless minks before him, at Arthur's unspoken command. They would not be escaping for the suffering which they had caused.

Anaria was relieved beyond words to finally emerge from the grim prison into the welcome light of the day. Arthur came out, carrying Guinevere in his arms. "Water!" he cried, "Get me some water."

Dagonet came out, holding the small boy named Lucan in his arms. Arthur laid Guinevere down gently on the ground. Horton hurried over with two water flasks, handing one to Arthur before hurrying over to give the other one to Dagonet. "His arm is broken." Anaria overheard him saying. He sounded astonished, obviously he had been overly spoiled by Rome and had never witnessed or even imagines such cruelty, "And his family?" Dagonet merely shook his head compassionately, his sadness for the boy all to plain in his face.

Arthur was busy attending to Guinevere. In the better light, her skin was a sickly grey color and her eyes sunken, with dark circles around them. Despite this though, Arthur couldn't deny that she was beautiful underneath the dirt and grime which caked her face.

Tristran, who had been guarding the entrance of the tunnel, sheathes his curved sword and said, "She's a Woad." He cast a glance at Anaria, wondering if perhaps they knew each other.

Anaria was standing over Arthur, watching him tending to Guinevere. She glanced up at Tristran. "She's my cousin." She answered to his unspoken question, "The one I was sent to find."

Arthur was gazing at Guinevere as she tried to drink the water which he had offered to her, but she began choking. Fulcina, who had been standing beside her son, suddenly came forward and knelt at Guinevere's side. Guinevere's showed recognition and she seemed to take comfort from Fulcina's presence and touch.

Guinevere was at last to be able to swallow some of the water. She looked up into Arthur's face, finally seeming to trust him. "I'm a Roman officer." He said, gently, "You're safe now, you're safe." For some reason, as he was saying this, Arthur felt a strange conviction that he never felt before. He somehow knew that he would do all in his power to make sure that no one ever hurt this girl again.

No sooner had Arthur made this unspoken vow that the harsh rasping voice of Marius was heard. "Stop what you're doing!" Marius came forward. He was angry, not only because Arthur had seen something Marius clearly had not wanted to be seen, but also because he was interesting in what Marius saw to be his divine right and duty.

Arthur rose to his feet, his bright, green eyes aflame. He was completely enraged. "What is this madness?"

"They are all pagans here." Replied Marius, as if that made it all right.

"So are we." Commented Galahad, with a scorching tone.

Marius chose to ignore Galahad, probably because the knight had a sword and he was too cowardly to challenge him. "They refuse to do the task God has set for them. They must die, as an example."

"You mean they refuse to be your serfs!" roared Arthur.

Marius did seem to understand why Arthur was reacting so strongly. "You are a Roman, you understand, and you are a Christian." Since he wasn't getting through to Arthur, Marius turned the brunt of his anger upon his wife, "You!" he accused here, "You kept them alive." He slapped Fulcina across the face, knocking her to the ground.

Arthur being the straightforward, logical man that he was, had a perfect response to Marius' abuse: a firm punch to the jaw that caused him to fall over backwards, landing him in an undignified heap. Arthur then withdrew Excalibur from the ground and held the point at Marius' throat. The mercenaries moved forward to help their master. But this time, Marius had lost his nerve by the time. "No, no, stop." He knew that any attempt by the mercenaries at this time would provoke Arthur to kill him. He was beaten, yet again. The only thing that he had left at his disposal was blustering threats. "When we get to the Wall, you will be punished for this heresy."

"Perhaps I should kill you now, and seal my fate." Growled Arthur, as he dug the point of the sword deeper into Marius's throat, dangerously close to breaking the skin.

"I was willing to die with them." said the insane monk which they had found in the darkened prison, "Yes, to lead them to their rightful place. It is the will of God that these sinners be sacrificed. Only than can their souls be saved."

Arthur faced the monk, his face expressionless and his tone flat. "Than I shall grant his wish."

The monk seemed relieved to hear this, but that relief was immediately dashed by Arthur's next words. "Wall them back up."

"Arthur…" said Tristran, not to act as a moderating influence, for he wanted to punish these supposed men of God as much as Arthur, however, they were pressed for time. It would be far easier to simply kill two men.

Arthur, however, would have nothing short of poetic justice, "I said wall them!"

The monks began panicking. "Can't you see it is the will of God that these sinners be sacrificed?"

"Unhand me defiler."

But the villagers would no longer be browbeaten by them. Several willing volunteers came forward to push the monks back into the prison. All of their struggling, damning curses and pathetic wailing was swallowed up by the righteous anger of the oppressed villagers. Anaria did not feel any sorrow or sympathy for the monks. It was the only fitting punishment: where before the minks had been the torturers, now they would be the prisoners who would be left to suffer and rot.

A short time later, the caravan, with Arthur firmly in command of the proceedings by this time, moved out. The snow was beginning to fall thick and fast by this point. The wind had picked up and was blowing in straight from the north. Anaria did say so, but all suspected that conditions would be only getting worse as they went up into the mountains. And with the Saxons close behind them, they could not afford to waste time. The long and dangerous journey back to Hadrian's Wall had begun.

* * *

Hoped you liked this chapter. From here on out, some of the events of the movie will be altered as I will be going by the novelization for inspiration. It might also take awhile for the next few chapters to be posted, as I am frantically writing them. But, don't worry, I am still working on this story and I won't abandon you or leave you hanging if I can help it.

Next chapter: the journey begins, as Anaria and Tristran's relationship begins to deepen. Warning: major fluff ahead, but than who doesn't like that sort of thing? Especially when it involves Tristran. That chapter will be posted very soon.


	17. The Journey Begins

Well, here at last is another chapter. Sorry it took me awhile, but what with the holidays and still frantically these stories out, it can be a challenge to get these stories out in as timely manner as I would wish. I will try to be a better about updating. Still, I hope that this chapter will be worth the wait. Enjoy!

The Journey Begins:

The Southeastern Pass proved to be as treacherous and difficult as Anaria had predicted. It did not help that almost as soon as they started the steep uphill path that wound it's way into the mountains, the snow had started to come down faster and faster, propelled by a cold north wind which seemed to infect the very bones of every traveler.

Anaria was just exiting the cart which Lucan and Guinevere were riding in. She had tried to help Guinevere, but she was still not speaking. Dagonet and Fulcina were tending the two of them, and Anaria knew that she was leaving her cousin in capable hands. However, no sooner had she mounted Celeste, when Arthur rode up and entered the cart. Curious, despite herself, Anaria followed the cart, watching what happened through the slats of wood.

Arthur spoke first to Dagonet. "How is he?"

"He burns." Dagonet replied, "Brave boy."

Arthur than moved to the back of the cart, where Guinevere lay huddled beneath a blanket of furs. She was still weak, but that glimmer of defiance had grown with her release, and she now showed no hint of fear. She kept her eyes locked on Arthur as he approached her. Initially, she was like a cat that was being cornered, bunching away from him as he moved to touch her. She clearly sill didn't trust him, not that she could be blamed considering the nightmare she had been subjected too.

Arthur, however, made no sudden moves. He took one of her hands gently and began to slowly unwrap the cloths which were binding her hands. Guinevere's fingers were crooked and lying at odd angles. Anaria and Arthur both knew what this meant. "Some of your fingers are out of place." Arthur said, gently. "I have to push them back." She did not respond, indeed she had said one word since they had rescued her, but Arthur got the feeling that she could understand him and she was clearly unsure. "If I don't do this, there's a chance you may never use them again."

Slowly, Guinevere rose to a sitting position, her jaw was set, her eyes determined, her whole manner seeming to say that she would remain defiant to the last. Arthur took one of her fingers.

_SNAP!_

Guinevere suppressed a scream, it obviously caused her great pain. Even Anaria winced at the sharp sound of Guinevere's suffering, even though she had done the same thing any number of times. It was different when someone you loved was on the receiving end.

_SNAP!_

Another finger, another scream, this time less suppressed and tears began to well up in Guinevere's eyes and roll down her grimy face.

_SNAP!_

The last finger seemed to have hurt her the most. Guinevere screamed. Arthur looked as though he hated causing her pain. But at least the ordeal was over. Guinevere, trembling, leaned against Arthur, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders almost impulsively. They stayed like this for a few moments, sharing an unspoken connection that perhaps neither of them was totally aware of. But than, Arthur, seeing how upset Guinevere was, decided it might be best if he left. But before he could do so, Guinevere grabbed him and to both Anaria and Arthur's surprise, she spoke, "They tortured me… with machines" she said, her voice hoarse, exhausted and terrified. Her eyes were haunted, as if she were reliving the nightmares of what she had experienced in Marius' prison. ". They made me tell them things, that I didn't know to begin with." Guinevere's tone began changing slightly, her coal black eyes focused on Arthur's face, "And than, I heard your voice in the dark. Saw you, holding a light. You brought me back, all the way from death. (AN from the novelization) I am Guinevere." Her eyes seemed to register a faint light of recognition. "You are Arthur, of the knights from the Great Wall?"

Arthur was not sure how to respond to this. "I am."

"The famous Britain who kills his own people." Her voice was weak, and Anaria was not sure if she even aware of all that she was saying.

Arthur and Guinevere stared at each other for a moment longer, than Guinevere's eyes fluttered closed and she slipped into the merciful oblivion of unconsciousness.

Arthur, slightly disturbed, laid Guinevere gently back down on the furs, and climbed out of the cart, only to be confronted by Anaria, who was scrutinizing him closely. "She would not speak." She told Arthur, "Not even to me would she speak, but she's spoken to you. I was wondering if she might be beyond help, but she is not. For that assurance alone, I thank you." Arthur was surprised by her words, even more when she said, "You have earned my respect, this day, Arthur."

She did not wait for a response but spurred her horse on ahead, leaving Arthur to silently stare out of her.

* * *

Tristran had expected the trail to be difficult, but even he was feeling the strain of traveling under such conditions. It was by now near white out conditions, and the wind was biting into the skin of the travelers like the teeth of a wounded wolf. He had been given the task by Arthur of leading the caravan across the treacherous mountain pass. In the conditions that were present, it was too dangerous to send out riders to scout out any easier trailers.

Tristran would normally have been focused upon the trail. However, this time, he was preoccupied by other thoughts. He was thinking of Anaria. Things had been moving so swiftly the past few days that he had hardly had time to fully comprehend what happened to him. Even now, he could still hardly believe that the woman he had loved for so long had been miraculously been restored to him. The thought could not keep him from being flooded with joy. He had so often dreamed of her, held her image in the back of his heart. And now, she had been given back to him, completely unexpectedly.

However, he also was aware of the fact that time had changed them both. He wasn't the same person he had been eight years before. His ruthlessness and cold joy in battle had increased, his gentler side lying dormant for so long. Tristran could also see that Anaria had chanced, too, though perhaps in a subtler way. She was darker and angrier. The laughing brightness was no longer in her eyes. In fact, if Tristran had been reading her rightly, it was almost as if some unseen terror of darkness was looming over her. He did not know what it was, but whatever it was, it was enough to send hills down his spine.

So lost was in thought that he did not at first hear the approaching hoofbeats. When he became aware of them, he turned, only to see the very person that he had been thinking about approaching. the dark eyes of the Scout lit up and he felt his mouth being pulled back in a small smile. It was the nearest he had come to expressing true happiness is a long time. "There you are," he said, "I was beginning to wonder if I would even get a chance of seeing you alone."

Anaria cast a glance back at the line of the caravan behind them. "Hardly alone."

"Perhaps not in the strictest sense of the word, but I have been waiting for a chance to speak with you."

"So have I. but first things first, I suppose you want to know something about the road which we're taking."

"Yes, if it can be called a road, it's more like a very well formed trail. It took us a week to come this far by the forest, how long will it take us to get across the mountains."

"In good weather, this pass can take the same amount of time. However, in weather such as this, two weeks maybe more."

Tristran nodded, though he didn't like what he heard. "Traveling at this rate, I would not be surprised if the Saxons should catch us before then."

"You always were cynical, more cynical than I thought was good for anyone."

Tristran made no answer; he merely continued to look at her, though his gaze was not piercing, it was more what could be described as engulfing. It was though the more he looked at Anaria, the more he began to feel as if there was something else around him.

"What is it?" Anaria asked, after a few moments.

"I still cannot believe it." he said, gently, "You're here now, in front of me. I can see you, feel you. But I still cannot believe it." he broke off his stare and looked away, remembering those long ago days of the past, when he and Anaria had first fallen in love. "It's been so long, but it seems like only yesterday. Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of you, though I did try, so hard, to forget. But I never could succeed.

"So did I." said Anaria, softly, "I tried to bury everything that reminded me of you. I don't think that it ever worked completely, but so many things in my life have made me so angry, have hurt me so deeply. And I have been angry, a very long time." She was silent for a few more minutes, weighing just how much she should tell him of the dark secrets which weighed on her soul. "I have changed, Tristran."

Tristran's dark eyes came around and looked at her. "And you think that I have not? Hatred and ignorance forced us apart, Anaria. Darkness has hung over us and sorrow dogged us for the past eight years. how could we weather such a storm and come out of it unscathed?"

It was a question which Anaria did not have to answer, for they both knew what the response was. But still she could not fully banish her doubts. Darkness had indeed plagued her, but she did let him know just what that darkness was? She did not think that even Tristran could have guessed the nightmares which she lived with, nightmares of violence and lust, when she had been at the mercy of a man who had been more animal than man in his treatment of her? Plus, doubts of a different kind had started to flit across her mind. She could not silence them, but she could not bring herself to ask Tristran what she most needed to know.

But, Tristran, at least, in part, could perceive some of her doubts. It was not just the elements of nature which he could read. He had also spent years observing the subtle complexities of human nature, and he was particularly attuned to Anaria. Eight years apart had not been enough to dampen the connection he had and he still knew her as well as he knew himself.

"Anaria, you have to know, there has never been anyone but you."

Anaria looked at him, honestly surprised that he had exactly guessed one of her main fears. Tristran was looking steadily at her, those dark eyes, normally so hard and unsettling for many, were now soft and reassuring. She could not hide from his gaze, nor did she need to know. "The years were long, Tristran. I would not expect you to be a saint."

"I was hardly a said I many ways." Said Tristran, with grim humor. "It has been many years since I allowed myself to feel anything.. I became colder, cruller. The only time I ever lived was on the battle field, when I could kill. I enclosed my heart. I shut myself off from the world; I choose to be alone rather than allow myself to feel the kind of pain I felt when I lost you. But I never could have loved another woman as I loved you. I couldn't even feel desire for another. I only ever saw you when I looked at the face of another woman, but there was none to equal you. There has only ever been you, because only you ever saw me for who I truly was."

Anaria knew that Tristran meant every word of what he was saying. Her fears would put to rest, for now. "There were times," she said, "when I would dream about you. I would hear your voice, feel your touch. I sometimes thought that I could hear you breathing. But than I would wake and find that it was all a dream." She close her eyes and shook her head. "I sometimes wished that I could just spend the rest of my life asleep, and keep on dreaming. the dreams were the only thing that kept me going."

Tristran reached out a hand and cupped her face, raising her eyes to look into his own. The gesture was hesitant, as he was not used to showing such gentleness, but it was heartfelt nonetheless. "This is not a dream, Anaria. And I can promise you, that this is only the start of new beginning for us. Whatever happens, we do not have to be alone anymore. We can and will face it together."

Anaria smiled, "You make it sound as though we will have many tomorrows. We once though that. How can we be sure what tomorrow will bring?"

"We never know. I don't know how many tomorrows will have together. But I know one thing: we have right now, together and that is enough for me."

"Tristran." A voice suddenly said behind them. it belonged to Arthur, who had ridden up behind them unheard and unseen.

The two of them had been closer than they had at first been aware and they jumped visibly when they heard Arthur's voice. Turning, Tristran faced Arthur, who was watching them with a hint of amusement, but also, intense curiosity. "Anaria, good, you're here as well. Dagonet asked me to send you to him should I find you."

"Is there anything wrong?"

"Lucan. Apparently, he's not getting any better and Dagonet thought you might have some way of helping him." The look on Arthur's face suggested he would dearly have liked to know why Dagonet believed that.

Anaria was rather reluctant to leave Tristran, but she also knew that is her help was needed, then Dagonet must have guessed the truth. "Very well, Arthur." With one last long look at Tristran, Anaria turned Celeste and made her way back down the caravan.

When she arrived at the cart, she found that Fulcina was no longer there. According to Dagonet, she had gone back to ride with Marius, an event which he seemed sorry at.

"What do you need from me?" she asked.

Dragonet gestured to Lucan. "It's Lucan. I've set the arm and it will be all right. it's the fever which I'm afraid of. It's the only thing that's keeping him from freezing to death in this cold, but it's getting higher and it could kill him if it's not lowered."

Anaria was listening to this with close attention and she was truly touched by Dagonet's obvious concern. She was beginning to remember just how tender hearted her was. He had always wanted children, but he had never found the one to have them with. She firmly resolved that she would do all she could to get Lucan better. Anaria began to look over Lucan, and the longer that Dagonet watched her, the more he was convinced of what before had only been a suspicion.

"Has he slept at all?" she asked, once she had finished.

"No." said Dagonet, "It's the fever which is keeping him awake."

"Than what we need to do is help him to sleep. Once he rests, his body would have the strength to fight the fever on its own and it will bring the fever down naturally. If this weren't winter and we weren't in the mountains, it would be easier to accomplish, but since we are in the present circumstances, I'll have to improvise. Wait here." She left the wagon and returned a moment with a small flask. "Here." She said, gently to Lucan, "Take some of this. It will taste terrible but it will help you to sleep." Lucan took a few sips of the mixture, and to Anaria's surprise, didn't even grimace.

"What did you give him?" asked Dagonet.

"A cordial that the Woads use to induce sleep. I've added a few ingredients of my own that help keep sickness at bay. I always try to carry some of it with me, just in case. You don't want to know what in it."

Dagonet sniffed the flask and visibly blanched. "You're right, I don't want to know what's in it."

"it may smell and taste unappealing, but it will help him to sleep without pain, and right now, that's the thing he needs most. Hopefully it will help to take his fever down gradually, we should know in a few days time."

Dagonet smiled, "My thanks to you," he paused, than said, "Isolde."

Anaria looked up at him, surprised, but only for a moment. "So, you've guessed at it, than? I was wondering if you ever would. How did you know?"

Dagonet shrugged. "I just guessed, and the things that I saw confirmed that guess. May I assume that Tristran know?"

"Yes, he does."

Dagonet's smile widened. "I am glad to hear it."

Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by the weak sound of Guinevere's voice. "Anaria." Anaria looked behind her and saw he cousin's eyes had opened and she looking at her.

"Guinevere," said Anaria, as she moved to sit beside her cousin, "You should be resting."

Guinevere was actually able to smile. "How could I sleep with you talking over there?"

Anaria smiled as she put an affectionate hand on her cousin's shoulder, "It's nice to see that your sense of humor hasn't been ruined by your ordeal. Though I would advise you to lay low for at least a few more days."

Guinevere did not respond directly to the question. she said, "I'm glad to see you, Anaria. There were times I though I would never get out of that place."

"Your father sent me to find you. But I have to say I would not have gotten close if it hadn't been for Arthur. Without him, you might have been dead before I got to you

"He is a good man, isn't he?" said Guinevere after a moment of silence.

"Yes, Guinevere. For all that he is a Roman commander, I think he is a very good man. Now you should get some rest."

Guinevere looked up into her face, "Will you stay with me awhile? It's been so long since I felt a comforting presence."

"I'll be here, Guinevere, for as long as you need me."

Guinevere closed her eyes, while Anaria stroked her face soothingly, as the cart in which they were riding, along with the rest of the caravan continued on their journey across the snow-ridden mountains.

* * *

Well, at last this next chapter has been sent out. I hope that this chapter was worth the wait. Look for the next one coming in a few weeks.

Next chapter: we delve into the secrets which cloud the pasts of both Anaria and Tristran


	18. The Shadow of the Past

Yes, I have finally managed to post a new chapter, despite my hectic and busy schedule. Sorry for taking awhile with the updates on this story, but I am still writing everything out, so it takes me awhile. Still, I hope the following chapter will be worth the wait.

The Shadow of the Past:

As Anaria left them to tend to Dagonet's request, Arthur did not miss the look in Tristran's eyes as he watched her go. He knew that now was the time to confront Tristran about this mystery woman. "Tristran, who is she?"

Tristran pulled his eyes from Anaria's departure and looked at Arthur, "What do you mean?"

"I have been watching you, Tristran and I have been watching her. I know you, Tristran, and I know that you are not one to pay much attention to women. But, Anaria, she is different, isn't she?"

Tristran could not deny Arthur. Sooner or later, he would have to be told of the extent of his relationship with Anaria. Now was, perhaps, as good a time as any. "You're right, Arthur. She is different. In fact, when we met, it was another life time. We have only now found each other again."

"Are you saying that you have met this woman before?" Tristran nodded, "How is that even possible?"

"It's not supposed to be possible, Arthur, but it happened. I have never spoken of this, because my past is, difficult for me to discuss, especially my time with Anaria. It's a long story, but one I think you need to hear."

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to remember the details of the story that he had so long avoided. "It was all so long ago." He murmured, more to himself than Arthur, "So many things happened, so much was felt. I hardly know where to start." At last he opened his eyes and began, "It all happened eight years ago. Do you remember that we were called to the home of a Roman official named Ian Marcellus? He was the governor of province in the south of Britain."

Arthur thought about this for a moment, before saying, "Yes, I believe I do. His territory was in dispute with a Breton lord named Mark. I don't think I was able to stay that long."

"You're right, Arthur. Another crisis came up at Camalann, one that needed your attention. You left, leaving Lancelot in charge in your place. You wanted a peaceful solution, but he also had your permission to use force if need be. It took nearly six months to bring that mission to completion.

"We were treated well for the most part. Ian was a good man, who knew how to honor when the effort was worth it. But he was also weak. He was a man of war, not politics, and was too easily swayed by those who advised him, men who only were looking out for themselves. But that seemed of no concern to me at the time, though perhaps, it should have been. There were other things that I was doing at the time which were important in my mind.

"I was given the task of looking after Ian's daughter, Isolde." His eyes grew distant as he continued the story. Arthur thought that he was retreating deeper into himself, as though he had forgotten Arthur's presence entirely and was seeing the past played out before his very eyes. "I had never seen a more beautiful woman in all my days. Something about her captured me from the very beginning, though I did ever thing I could at first to deny the attraction. Isolde refused to be bound within the wall of the fortress, despite the danger posed by Mark's forces. She had a spirit that could not be caged by anything, especially by convention. Time past. We fell in love. The problems surrounding us didn't seem to matter. We ignored the fact that it was impossible we could ever be together. It was a mistake that we would pay heavily for.

"One day, Mark's forces came. It was not unexpected. Mark had shown himself to be a belligerent war monger who was determined that he would get Ian's land by force. What was unexpected is the way in which the attack came. Mark called for a single combat between his best fighter with one of Ian's, to the death. None of Ian's men were strong enough or brave enough to accept the challenge. I decided that I would take up his challenge against Lancelot's orders. Mark had made no secret of the fact that he would happily slaughter everyone in Ian's household to achieve his purpose. I would not let Isolde come to any harm is I could help it.

"The fight was long and hard, I don't remember much of it today. All I know was that he was a challenge for me. But I wouldn't back down, and I was able to kill him. However, with his final breath, he was able to plunge a knife into me. I didn't think it was serious at first, but than it became evident that the knife had been poisoned." Tristran laughed grimly. "I suppose this champion of Mark's didn't care how he died, so long as he knew that whoever killed him would be dead soon after. Fortunately, Isolde was able to heal me. There wasn't anymore skilled in the art of healing. If it had not been for her I would not be here today."

There was a long moment of silence as Arthur struggled to take this all in. he had had no idea that any of this had happened to his scout, not that Tristran could have felt so deeply about another person. But he could tell that Tristran had not yet come to the worst of it. "The story didn't end there though, did it, Tristran?"

Tristran laughed humorlessly once more. "If only it could have. The threat from Mark seemed to have been eliminated. He made no more raids after this encounter; he seemed ready to talk terms. Lancelot announced that as soon as a settlement had been reached, we would be leaving to go back to Camalann. And when he said that, something changed in my relationship with Isolde. Now that it was obvious we were going to be separated, we could hardly keep away from each other. We began to realize that we couldn't live apart from each other. We made plans that when I left with the others, she would follow me. But before that could happen, the commission came from Mark, just as expected. However, the peace he demanded came with a price: he wanted Isolde. He had heard much about her, and had come to believe that he would make an ideal wife. Isolde knew that if she did not comply, more people would die. As a healer who respected human life almost more than anything, she couldn't allow that to happen if she could at all prevent it. So, though she had no desire, in the end, she agreed to him terms.

"The news devastated me, as it did her. But she still advised me to stay away, for it was too dangerous now for us to meet. I tried, I tried so hard, but I could not. On the night we were to separated, I came to her. Despite everything, we could deny that we belonged together. We pledged ourselves to each other, so that whatever happened, out hearts would always be as one. But, than…"

Tristran went suddenly silent. Arthur waited. He saw that Tristran's hands had tightened on the reins and when he spoke, his voice was shaking with rage and sadness.

"They came. Andred, a chief counselor of Ian, followed by a dozen others; they had come to break Isolde's spirit. They knew that it could have no place in a wife; especially one of Mark's standing. They did not expect to find me there, it was an unexpected bonus. They took us down to the dungeons, and beat us, beat us both to within an inch of our lives. But our pain was all the worse because we were forced to watch the senseless torturing of the other. But, before it was all over, Andred thought of one additional punishment, as if we had not suffered enough already. Andred knew that as a knight I would of the Roman Empire, I would know suffering every day of my life. But, Isolde would lead only a life of luxury. So, she would need a reminder of the sin that she had committed. He burned her hands, not with coals, though, with fire." He closed his eyes and shuddered, "The scream she uttered would forever by burned on my memory. I still dream of it.

"I do not remember much of what happened after that. The next clear thing that I recall is waking up back at Camalann. My brother told me that Isolde would soon be carted off to her marriage, as if she were a commodity rather than an actual person. Two months later, I found out that she had been killed in a Woad ambush. From that moment on, it seemed as if my life stopped. I swore to myself that I would never love another human being. My only joy would be the battlefield and my only hope would be to die there honorably." He looked back at Arthur, his eyes beginning to clear. "Until now, when I found her alive."

"And she is a Woad?"

"Yes. I knew that she was of Woad heritage when I first met her. Her father took her as his own when he found her abandoned in a Woad village. This is the first time, though, that I have seen her like this. Her name is now Anaria. But in the end, the names, the lineage changes nothing."

Arthur regarded that statement. He did not know why, but something about it struck a chord in him, and made him want to think on it further.

In any event, however, Tristran's story was over, but Arthur suspected also, that it was only just beginning. Arthur said only, "I'm glad that you have found her, Tristran." Before he turned his horse and left Tristran alone with his thoughts.

* * *

A day later, the caravan was continuing to inch its way along the trail. Anaria was riding along with the caravan, though she had to admit that her mind was really no longer focused upon the trail or the caravan. In fact, her mind had been mostly blank for the past few hours. To be quite truthful, despite the bone-chilling cold, treacherous trail and the Saxons who were undoubtedly in pursuit, she was becoming quite bored with this trip. There is only so much stimulation that riding alongside a caravan can provide.

However, all that changed when she saw the cart which was carrying Lucan and Guinevere. She had checked on both of the earlier in the day and both were quickly mending. However, even she was surprised to see Guinevere up and sitting but the cart's entrance, wrapped up against the cold, by thick furs.

"Guinevere, I wasn't expecting to see you up this soon."

Guinevere had undergone a major transformation from the previous day. She had recovered a good deal more strength, and seemed more like herself. "I recover quickly, Anaria. You of all people should be aware of that. I'm glad to see you."

"And I you. When we didn't hear from you in all these months, we despaired. What happened?"

Guinevere snorted. "The mercenaries of Marius attacked the village I was staying at, and we were brought back to the estate, those who survived, at least. Many of them were put to work I the fields. I was lucky. I was given work in the manor. The work was exhausting but not back breaking. That was until Marius noticed me and thought I was better suited to a pleasanter form of work."

"I'm surprised you didn't castrate him."

"I was going, too, but they were on me before I could. Then I was taken down into that hell hole. I never thought I would get out."

"Well, I do hope that's the only experience of hell you have to endure in this lifetime, Guinevere. Some of us have traveled many, deeper circles."

Both Guinevere and Anaria were silent for a few moments, than Guinevere said, "Anaria is there something you want tell me?"

"What makes you think I do?"

"I don't know. A feeling, I suppose"

Guinevere and Anaria had always been close. They were more like sisters than cousins and they had always been able to tell if something was bothering the other.

"I actually do have something to tell you, but it is nothing bad. It is about Tristran. He is alive, and is traveling right now with the knights."

Guinevere's eyes widened in speechless shock. She had, of course, known of Tristran's existence in her cousin's life. Anaria had told her all about him. But she had never dreamed that she would ever hear Anaria say such words.

"How is that possible? I thought you told me he was dead."

"I thought so, as well. I really don't understand it myself, still. All I know is that he is alive and is back in my life."

Guinevere, after a moment to process this shocking bit of news, smiled and said, "I wish all the best for you. After all you have been through, you deserve some happiness. I should dearly like to meet this Tristran of yours, when I get the chance."

"I'll see that it is arranged. In the meantime, though, I expect you to get better. If you die, then I will never speak to you again."

Guinevere laughed; it was good for Anaria to see. She was sure that Guinevere had not laughed in a long time. A few minutes more they moved on in a companionable silence. After awhile, Anaria noticed that Guinevere's attention had been caught by something, or rather, someone. Looking in the same direction as her cousin, she saw Lancelot and Arthur riding together a little ways ahead. The two knights seemed to sense that they were being watched. Lancelot turned his head to look back at Guinevere, as did Arthur. Lancelot only looked back at her for a few minutes before turning back and kicking his horse on ahead with an annoyed attitude.

Arthur, however, kept his eyes focused steadily on Guinevere. Pulling out of the main line of the caravan, he waited for cart which Guinevere was riding in before turning his horse to follow alongside them.

Anaria was surprised by this move. She had not noticed anything in particular passing between Guinevere and Arthur, but then, she wasn't privy to either of their thoughts. Perhaps… she found herself observing their following interaction with a great deal of interest.

Arthur, though, he had made the conscious choice to ride beside the cart in which Guinevere was riding, did not seem to want to betray any interest in its occupant. Therefore it was left to Guinevere to start the conversation. "My father told me great tales of you." She began a few seconds.

"Really?" said Arthur, without turning around, "And what did you hear?"

Guinevere had almost wondered if she would get him to answer. "Fairy tales." She said, with a half smile of remembrance, "The kind you hear about people so brave, so selfless, they can't be real. Arthur and his knights." She had admit, that a part of her had always been fascinated by the legend of Arthur. She had relished those stories her father had told her and had asked for them again and again. In the early years of her life she had thought only of how heroic this man of legend was. And that enchantment remained. however, she was also more aware of the darker side to Arthur, and she had never been quite able to reconcile completely the two sides of the man which the stories and the truth presented. "A leader both Britain and Roman. And yet, you choose your allegiance to Rome, to those who take what does not belong to them. That same Rome that took your men from your homeland."

That caused Arthur to turn to face her. "Listen, Lady, do not pretend you know anything about me or my men." He was obviously annoyed and slightly angry at Guinevere's impertinence, but he also found her blatant honestly to be rather intriguing.

"How many Britains have you killed?" Guinevere challenged.

"As many as tried to kill me it's the natural state of any man to want to live."

"Animals live," snapped Guinevere, before Arthur had even finished, "It the natural state for any man to want to live free in their own country." Arthur was silent. Guinevere looked up at the dark green fir trees surrounding them, with the high purple hued mountains encrusted with snow towering behind them. "I belong to this land." She murmured, "Where do you belong, Arthur?"

Arthur seemed to contemplate this, but either because he had no answer or he simply did not want to answer, merely asked her, "How is your hand?"

His concern was genuine. Despite herself, Guinevere found she was touched and smiled a little, "I'll live, I promise you."

Arthur looked back to the road, wondering why he was talking with this woman whom he had known only for a few days. There was something about her, something which Arthur could not name, which made him listen to her as he had never listened to another woman before. He didn't know how to respond to the questions which she posed him, even though he had been asking the exact same questions himself for years.

Guinevere seemed to sense Arthur's disturbed state of mind. "Is there nothing about my land that appeals to your heart?" her tone was decidedly lighter, which seemed to catch Arthur off guard, "Your own father married a Britain, even he must have found something to his liking."

Arthur did not reply. But his green eyes came back to look into her dark ones. An eternity seemed to pass as the stared at each other; they were both sensing that there was a growing connection between them, one which they could not readily deny. But, many years of distrust on both sides, made them wary of acknowledging it.

Arthur broke her gaze and rode off. Guinevere watched him go, she wasn't sure if she would be able to get their conversation out of her head for awhile.

Anaria, whose presence had more or less been forgotten, had watched all this with increasing interest. Once Arthur had gone, she said, "Well, I can see that you're not the only one to be offering congratulations, Guinevere."

Guinevere looked at her, "What?"

"Guinevere, it didn't occur to you during that whole last conversation that you might be attracted to your rescuer?"

That brought a blush to Guinevere's face. She immediately looked away from her cousin and began fidgeting. "I don't know what you mean."

"Guinevere, you were goading him. I happen to know you only do that to men you like."

"Anaria, you were seeing things."

"Oh, was I? Well, we'll just see whose right then, won't we?"

Guinevere turned back to beam a glare of slight annoyance at Anaria, "Are you quite finished?"

Anaria smiled, "For now. Later on though, who knows?"

Before Guinevere could respond (which might have been for the best), the caravan suddenly ground to a halt. Anaria and Guinevere looked at each other in confusion, "What's going on?"

"I don't know." responded Anaria, "We might be stopping for the night. I'm going to see what's going on. We'll talk later."

"Good bye, Anaria. The next time I see you, you had better have your Tristran with you."

"I'll see to it." said Anaria before riding away.

She caught up with Arthur and the rest of the knights who had stopped on an overlook into the valley below. The wind was continuing to blow and everything beyond the vast curtain of snow was lost in a blur. "We'll stop here." Said Arthur, pointing to a dense stand of fir trees a short distance above the caravan that would grant them protection from the wind for the night, "Take shelter in those trees. Tristran."

Tristran knew the unspoken command. Arthur wanted him to scout the trail behind them and see how much time they had. "You want to go out again?" he said to Onora, who was perched on his arm. Onora screeched once and took off into the sky, back the way they had come. Turning back to Anaria, he said, "I'm going to need your guidance, Anaria."

Anaria knew that more was wanted than just her guidance; Tristran wanted some time alone with her. And for herself, she was eager to take the chance. "I thought you would never ask." Said Anaria, and she and Tristran spurred on their horses down the trail and disappeared behind the snow.

Well, there is this chapter out of the way. Sorry it took me so long, but school has just been crazy. Still, I hoped that you liked this one. Hopefully, the next chapter won't be as long a wait.

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Well, even if the chapter was awhile in coming, I do hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter. I'll try to have the next one up soon.

Next chapter: Anaria and Tristran share a few tender moments, but how will their relationship change when Anaria reveals a dark secret from her past?


	19. Healing Hearts

Hurray! At long last, here is a brand new chapter. I appreciate everyone's patience in between updates. Hopefully, the next one won't take so long. Merry Early Christmas to everyone.

Healing Hearts:

Night had fallen upon the mountains. The snow had stopped and the clouds had rolled away from the moon, which shone its pale, silver light upon the white, snow-capped mountains. It lent an air of otherworldly quality to the night, while the stars twinkled and shone like diamond across the dark velvet of the sky.

The winter beauty was lost upon the two riders that were galloping along the snowy road. No words passed between them, but they both kept their eyes and ears peeled for any sign that the Saxons were approaching. It had come towards midnight, when Tristran came suddenly to a stop atop a high overlook.

"What is it?" asked Anaria.

"Shh." Said Tristran. He cocked his head, alerted to some sound riding upon the air. "Listen."

Anaria did as she was bidden, and after awhile, she heard it as well: the distant trumping sound of many pairs of feet, marching to the beat of drums, distant and flickering in and out of hearing. "Saxons." She said, "How far?"

Tristran took a few more moments to listen, before saying, "They're still distant. The mountains also mask the true distance of sound. You know how swiftly Saxons travel. They could cover a lot of ground by daybreak. However, I don't think they'll bother us or the caravan tonight. They'll have to rest at least for a short time. As should we." He dismounted, as did Anaria, "It's been a few days since we had a decent rest."

They led their horses into the nearby tree cover, where they would be somewhat sheltered from the cold and from the prying of any eyes that might happen along the way. In a short time they managed to get a fire going, they needed the heat, despite the risk, that the smoke might be seen. Regardless, it was the warmest they had been in days. For Tristran however, the warmth was coming from a very different place.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her, as she stared into the dancing flames. The firelight was reflected in her eyes, and the light playing across her skin, made her look as if she was glowing. Then he looked down at her scarred hands, her hands which were a symbol of all that she had suffered because she had fallen in love with a man she could not have.

But little good that punishment had done her in trying to teach her a lesson. It hadn't altered the fact that they had found each other again, and that nothing now stood in their way toward being together.

Unconsciously, he took one of her hands and began stroking it between both of his own. She turned her eyes to look at him. "You're so beautiful." He murmured, softly. He raised his hand to cup her cheek. "I have dreamed of you so often, but the dream cannot compare with the reality." He had come closer and his forehead was now leaning against hers. His heart was beginning to beat faster; he had never thought he would have the opportunity to be this close to her again. Taking her head in his hands, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.

He was not expecting the subtle change in her body language. He felt her slowly begin to tense up, and sensed that she was holding something back. She seemed afraid. He didn't understand why. Had she responded in the way he had hoped, he would have been in paradise. He would have gone further that night, but it was clear that she was not enjoying this closeness as much he was.

Anaria's soul was roiling with mixed emotions. A part of her was screaming to allow Tristran in deeper, to feel what she had not felt for so long. But there was another part of her, a part overshadowed by dark memories, memories of nights that had occurred so many years ago, when the feel of flesh upon flesh had been the cause for nightmarish occasions. Tristran's attempt at intimacy had inadvertently made those memories clearer and sharper. For a split second, doubt entered into Anaria's mind; what if Tristran was no different than him, than all the other men she had encountered in her life? What if he used her until he had slaked his pleasure then left her broken and alone?

This fear may have been irrational and untruthful, but it was still there, in the back of her mind, taunting her, and baiting her with terrible hints of imminent betrayal. Despite herself, it soon became the only thing that she could think of. And when Tristran moved his arms down her back and tried to pull her closer to her him, her senses rebelled.

Tristran felt Anaria tense completely and pull away from him. He was confused, wondering if he had done something wrong. But than he saw the look of fear in her eyes, which betrayed the desperate battle that was taking place inside her, though between what, he could not tell.

"Anaria, what's the matter?"

Anaria shook her head. "I just… I can't. I'm sorry, Tristran. I just can't." she turned away from him and he saw her shoulders begin to shake. She was clearly trying not to cry.

He moved slowly to sit beside her. He did not make any attempt to touch her, for fear he might make things worse. "Anaria?"

"I'm sorry, Tristran. I can't do this. I can't give you what you want."

Shame flooded Tristran, and he immediately cursed himself for being such a stupid idiot. "Anaria, if I moved too fast-"

"No, no Tristran, it's not you. It's all me. I just can't get the idea out of my head that you might be different.'

"Different? Anaria what are you talking about?"

"Different than all the men who have ever been in my life, men who willingly used me and then threw me aside as if I did not matter; men who took whatever they wanted from me, no matter how personal. How can I know that you won't hurt me, like, like he did?"

Tristran looked at her long and hard before he finally began to gain a glimmer of understanding. "Mark?" Anaria inhaled a little and turned away as if the very name was enough to cause her pain. "It's him, isn't it? Anaria, what did he do to you."

Anaria looked as if she were about to speak, than shook her head, "It's doesn't matter. Nothing can change the past."

The look of haunted pain in her eyes pierced his soul. He knew what she was trying to do, deny the past, bury memories and forget that they had ever happened. He had done the same thing with his earliest memories. It had only brought him pain and emptiness. He couldn't allow the same thing to happen to Anaria. He had to get her to tell him what had happened to her all those years ago, just as she had once done for him.

"Eight years ago you helped me to face the pain of my parents' death, "don't you remember? My village was destroyed when my people refused to give up their sons to Roman slaughter. You told me that the pain of such a memory has to be embraced. For better or worse, it made me who I am and I mustn't deny the place that it has in my life." Anaria still seemed unsure if she could take her own advice now. "Don't try to deny this, Anaria. I can see that some blackness is eating away at your soul, and it has been for a very long time. In time, it will destroy you. I can't risk losing you again, Anaria. Please tell me, what happened?"

Anaria was silent for a long time, staring into the fire's flames. At last she began speaking, slowly and unsteadily, "I have never told anyone of the horrors which were constantly stalking me during my marriage to Lord Mark. He was well enough in the light of day, but at night, he was a monster. On our wedding night, he forced me, several times, and the night after that, and then the next and the next. On and on, it seemed to go, it seemed like an eternity. I never thought there would be an end to it. He did finally become tired of me, but sometimes, he would burst into my chamber, with no warning, drunk and hungry for only one thing. They say that there must always be hell we must pass through on earth. Mine was my marriage to Mark." She shook her head, tears beginning to run their way down her face, beginning to lose control of her emotions. "I was desperate to do anything to do anything to escape this. I just began drawing more and more into myself, where I couldn't feel or remember anything. I couldn't even remember you, because I could only feel regret that I had let you go. I suppose I just didn't want to feel anything anymore, for what emotions given me except heartbreak?

"This went on for three months, and then one day, while Mark and I were riding through the forest with his followers, we were ambushed by Woads. The fight was short and brutal. In the chaos, both I and Mark were unhorsed. Mark's back was to me, he didn't see me. I became possessed by something that I had never felt before, anger, hatred. I just knew that I wouldn't let him leave that battle alive. I took up a sword that had fallen to the road and approached him. And then, I cut off his head. I wanted to be sure he was really dead, I wanted to be that he wouldn't come back to haunt me. But, in some ways, he has. Sometimes, in my dreams, I relive those nights again. I sometimes think that there is some part of me that he is still controlling and I never will be free of him."

Tristran had not said a word during this whole thing. His feelings as she confessed first began in anger, as she described the abuse she had suffered at the hands of Mark, but there is nothing that the anger of the living can do to punish the crimes of the dead. Tristran realized that his first concern had to be Anaria. And he found, as he continued to listen, that his heart was swelling with more emotion then he had thought possible for him to still feel.

They did not speak for many long moments of silence. There was no need at first for any words to be spoken. But, at last, Tristran spoke, "Anaria, I cannot even begin to understand what you have gone through. But you have got to move on. You can't allow yourself to be a slave of the past. You cannot hope to have a future if you keep clinging to the past. I am here now, with you, and I'm not going away. Let me help you heal. I cannot say that it will be easy, but I can promise you this, you can trust me, I would never do anything to hurt you. And I will help you through this, for however long it takes."

Anaria had been unable to keep the tears from falling down her face. Tristran's eyes never deceived and the look of complete and utter devotion in his eyes made her feel at peace. For now, the memories were defeated. She had now more reasons to be indebted to Tristran.

On impulse, she buried herself in Tristran's arms. He encircled her in his arms, running his fingers through her hair and kissing her head. And for the first time in many long years, Anaria felt truly at peace, and in the arms of the man she loved and who loved her, she felt truly protected.

* * *

What woke Anaria several hours later was an odd feeling of foreboding. She listened hard to her surroundings, trying to understand what had caused it, and then she heard it. The crunching of snow, heavy footsteps, gruff voices; still aways off, but they were coming closer.

Placing her hand over Tristran's mouth, she shook him gently. It didn't take much to wake Tristran; he was a light sleeper and was almost always alert when he did wake up. He looked at her questioningly and she gestured for him to be silent and listen. Tristran's sensitive hearing caught the sounds that were riding upon the wind.

"Saxon scouts." he mouthed.

They both knew what to do. Slipping into the shadows of the trees, she and Tristran prepared to do combat. There wasn't anyway that they were going to allow these front runners to report back to their commander, alive at any rate.

There were seven, as well as one who did not appear to be a Saxon, in fact, he looked Britain in appearance. He was smaller than the others, and conspicuously unarmed. His hair and eyes were also black, and he was dressed in the simpler clothing of a native Britain. The rest of them were truly barbaric in appearance. They were covered in furs, dirt and grime, blonde-haired and broad-shouldered. They also carried an array of ugly and vicious-looking weapons. Anaria could see by the look in their eyes that they were ready to kill at a moment's notice and in the most brutal way imaginable.

Their voices soon became audible in the pre-dawn air. "Are you sure that they could have come this way?" asked one of the Saxons to the Britain, who was leading the way.

"Yes, I am sure." said the Britain, who had probably been asked the same question many times, and he was losing patience with it. "What other way could they have gone? Your people are blocking all other ways."

"Do I detect a hint of defiance in that tone of yours, Britain?" said the Saxon, threateningly.

The scout averted his eyes and said in a humbler tone, "No, sir. I gave my word to your master, Cerdic and I will fulfill my part of that bargain."

"Good, see to it that it stays that it stays that way. Just remember where your loyalties lie or-"

An arrow that seemed to come out of nowhere cut off whatever threat the Saxon was going to make. The rest of the Saxons had no time to react over the next few seconds, because three more arrows suddenly flashed out of the tees and found their targets in the flesh of the Saxons.

Then, just as the Saxons were recovering themselves, the two figures burst from the trees, swords drawn. Though the Saxons were skilled with swords, yet they were just scouts and were used to their enemies surrendering to them on sight. These two, however, were grim-faced warriors and didn't seem to be the least frightened.

It was over before it began, really. The only thing that the Saxons had time to do was block, parry, and then be slain, the white snow splashed red with their blood. The only one left alive was the Britain scout, who was looking about him with a befuddled expression on his face, as if he didn't really know what had just happened.

Anaria approached him, contempt written plainly on her face. She pointed her sword at the scout and said, in a voice as hard as flint. "The Saxons, how far are they? Speak."

"From here, six hours." said the scout, his mouth turning dry. "They won't start moving until I return to bring them word. They're after the family, that's all I know. Please, don't kill me."

Anaria came closer, her voice tight and low. "What is your name?"

"Geoffrey."

"Geoffrey. A good name. A pity it could not belonged o a worthier host." She scrutinized him closely. "A traitor, through and through, to cowardly to even stand up to our enemies. How could you serve the Saxons knowing what they do to their victims? What did they offer you in return?"

"They gave me my life."

"And gold, no doubt. Gold which, I am sure, they have not yet paid. Well, let me assure you that once you have fulfilled your purpose to them, they will kill you. Come with us, there is still a chance to redeem yourself."

Geoffrey looked as if he may have been about to agree, but then he shook his head. "I-I can't. When the Saxons catch up with you, they would kill me for desertion."

Anaria's sword point at his throat forced him to his knees. Anaria's voice, though angry and disgusted, was also perhaps a bit sad. "No Britain fears death, no matter how painful, if it be for the right cause. I am sorry you cannot see that. You have chosen the life of a traitor and you will die a traitor's death. For your sake, I hope it will be short and painless."

She removed her sword and gestures to the road. "Go, and tell your commander that though we do not seek a fight as we are, yet as we are, we shall not run from him. Now, go, before I change my mind."

Geoffrey scrambled to his feet and ran off, staggering down the trail. Anaria came back to Tristran, who was kneeling amidst the dead bodies of the Saxons, studying the weapons. "They were carrying crossbows." he said, without looking up, "They will be able to pierce armor. If all of them are carrying weapons such as these, it could be bad for us."

"Either way, we do not have much time." said Anaria, "We need to get back to the caravan with all haste."

Tristran rose, but before either of them could go to get their horses, he took one of her hands and cupped her face with one of his own. "About last night, I hope that I was able to comfort you."

Anaria actually smiled and kissed Tristran, softly, "You have made me feel more at peace with myself than I have been for a long time." She said.

A short time later, the two of them had galloped off, leaving behind the bodies of seven dead Saxons, which were steadily being buried by the white snow, covering the blood and erasing all evidence that a battle had ever taken place on that trail.

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Hope everyone liked this chapter. As usual, Read and Review.

Next chapter: The Battle for the ice. The Saxons have caught up to them, and now they have no choice but to stand and fight. Is there any chance that fate can be reversed and that maybe a life can be spared? Find out next time.

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	20. Hold the Ice

Here is the next chapter of Freedom to Love, Freedom to Live. Enjoy.

Hold the Ice:  
The cold morning air bit into the skin of Tristran and Anaria as they rode as swiftly as they could back up the trail to where the caravan had camped the previous night. Though they knew that it would take a good two or three hours for the scout to report what had happened to his leader, they knew the Saxons wouldn't lay idle once they received word that the enemy had been contacted. They would move swiftly as could be afforded. The Saxons also wouldn't be hindered by a whole village of serfs and wagons. Arthur wouldn't leave any of them behind, no matter how dire the circumstances became. Both Tristran and Anaria knew this, so they made all haste to get back to camp and deliver the news to Arthur.

By the time they rode into camp, its occupants were already stirring. People peered out of their make shift tents and shelters in blurry-eyed confusion as they rode past. Many of the knights were already astride their horses, and gathered around a small group of mercenaries. Arthur, Lancelot and Guinevere were also there, on foot. Anaria saw her cousin had been somehow managed to procure a bath, and a new dress. She not only looked better, she apparently felt stronger, as she was holding a longbow in one of her hands, and, judging by the arrows which were dotted around the ground by the mercenaries feet, it was obvious that she had been using it.

It was than that Anaria saw the arrow pierced body of Marius Honorius lying on the ground a little ways off. Alecto was kneeling over the body, looking remorseful, but he was not shedding any tears. Fulcina was standing over her son, offering him comfort, but it didn't look like she was at all grieved by her husband's death. Anaria knew than that there must have been some sort of clash between Arthur's followers and Marius's mercenaries. Not surprisingly, Marius had come out on the losing end.

Bors, alerted by the sound of their approaching hoofbeats turned and said to them in his typical form of a greeting, "How many did you kill?"

"Four." said Tristran.

"Three." said Anaria, "And I was able to threaten one of their scouts."

"Not a bad start to the day." said Bors, laughing at his own joke.

Tristran came to a stop in front of Arthur. "Armor piercing." said Tristran, as he dropped the crossbow of the Saxons at Arthur's feet, "They're close we have no time."

"You ride ahead." said Arthur, "Find out if there are any short cuts that can be taken."

Tristran nodded, and with a final glance at Anaria, spurred his horse into a gallop and rode off around the bend.

"Anaria, how far away are they?" asked Arthur, as the young woman dismounted from her horse.  
"Their scout said they were six hours from where Tristran and I camped. But, if he kept up the speed he did when he left us, than I wouldn't be surprised if they were able to catch up to us before midday. If we moved fast enough, we might have a chance of staying ahead of them.

"Might?" Said Arthur, with a raised eyebrow.

"They are not encumbered by an entire caravan, Arthur. Saxons don't lag, they march. They may be barbarians, but they are disciplined enough to move quickly, and they will move quickly in this instance, I can promise you."

Arthur nodded, disturbed by Anaria's message. "Gawain, Galahad," he said, turning to the two knights, "get the people ready. Tell them to hurry."

The two knights that Arthur had indicated acknowledged this and rode off amidst the people, yelling at them to get ready.

"What should we do about…" Bors gestured to the body of Marius.

Arthur looked at Alecto, "He was your father." He said, "What would you have done with him?"

Alecto looked at his father's dead face and than rose slowly to his feet. "Leave him here. We have not the time to bury him, and he was not a man who deserved the death of a true Christian. He was my father, but he is dead. His fate is now beyond anyone's control."

Arthur nodded, and murmured, "We will talk later if you wish." Than left to oversee the preparations of the caravan.

Anaria approached Guinevere. "What happened?" she asked,

"Marius tried to take over the caravan." said Guinevere, "He took Lucan captive and threatened to kill him. I had no alternative."

"Yes, I can see that. Rather inconsiderate of you, though. I was planning on doing the same thing myself. The very least you could have done was ask me."

"Sorry, next time, I'll let you have first pick of the time and place."

"I'll hold you to that." She said, as Guinevere moved away to the cart she had been riding in the day before.

She went over to Dagonet, who had finished comforting Lucan, and was now making sure that they went off as quickly as with the others. "How are you?" asked Anaria, to Lucan.

"I am all right now." said Lucan, "He tried to kill me a second time, but Dagonet made sure that they didn't." The boy looked shyly at the large knight, "He told me yesterday that nothing would ever harm me again."

"Yes, and that is a promise I intend to keep." said Dagonet, "I have to ride with Arthur today, Lucan. He wants all his warriors prepared today should we run into any trouble. I want you to stay in the wagon, and obey everything that Fulcina tells you. She will look after you today."

Lucan nodded obediently, than asked, "Will I see you at the end of the day?"

A haunted look came across Dagonet's face,"I hope so, boy, I hope so." The next instant, he seemed to shake it off, and managed a small smile, "Now, run along and get to the wagon."

Lucan nodded and hurried off. Anaria watched the young boy racing off into the people toward the wagon where, not a day before, he had been a patient. "He seems to have recovered well."

"he's still a bit weak, and he needs more rest. His fever has passed, though. That was something strong that you gave him, but it saved his life. I am glad; I don't know what I would have done, had he died."

Anaria watched him, "You seem to have become very attached to him, in just a short time."

Dagonet nodded as he turned to face her, "Yes, I have. I know the reason why I was sent to this island now. It was to take care of him. He is my purpose now, and I don't want to lose him."

"You won't." said Anaria, "I will see to that."

Dagonet smiled, "Still trying to save my lie after all these years?"

"I have nothing else better to do." said Anaria.

"Oh," said Dagonet, eyes twinkling, "I wouldn't necessarily say that. What were you and Tristran doing last night?"

Anaria blushed and was silent. Dagonet couldn't help but laugh at her look, but it was kindly meant. "So, it seems that we both have new things to live for. I hope that yours works out."

"The same to you, Dagonet." said Anaria, "Come on, we had better get ready to leave, that is, unless you want to stay here and get captured by the Saxons."

"No, that would be a blot on an otherwise lovely ride on a cold winter morning through the mountains." said Dagonet, sarcastically.

It was not much longer after this that the caravan once more set off, refreshed by a night's rest, but clearly not out of danger yet.

* * *

The hours dragged by, and with each hour that passed, Anaria felt that the speed of the caravan moved slower and slower, until she began to think that if they had been racing a snail, than the snail would have been leagues ahead of them by midday. Icy patches along the road made the going difficult and for the first half of the morning, the caravan hugged one side of the mountain while trying to avoid being plunged down a thousand foot drop which would welcome them should they put one foot wrong on the treacherous path. Finally, they were able to leave the dangerous slope and head down into the wide valley that cut through two mountains. The snow lay deeper here, but it packed firm, and there was little danger of slipping or sliding. Despite the fact that the going was somewhat easier, the caravan seemed to move slower than ever. The grueling pace, deep cold and exhaustion were beginning to wear on all the travelers. Anaria began to suspect that conflict which they had bee trying so hard to avoid was going to be inevitable.

Sometimes she could almost hear the echoing thunder of the Saxon drums, but than the wind would carry it away, and she wasn't sure if she had been imagining it, or if the terror was slowly coming closer. It was on one such occasion when she thought she heard it, louder than it was before, and she stopped Celeste for a moment to make sure of it. As before, she heard it for only a moment before it faded away, but this time it lasted a bit longer and it was definitely closer. Anaria sighed and drew her cloak tighter against her body, almost hoping that she could somehow protect herself from the cold feeling of dread which was starting to grow in the pit of her stomach. She didn't relish the prospect of hand to hand combat with the Saxons. A small part of her may have been afraid for herself, all the stories she had heard of the Saxons would have made even the bravest man tremble. But, what she feared most was what would happen to Lucan, and Fulcina and everyone else in the caravan who needed to get back to the wall safely. She feared what the Saxons would do to the innocents of the caravan if they caught them.

"You can hear them to, can't you?" she turned, startled to find that Lancelot was riding beside her, His face was as intense as her own, as he had been hearing the same sounds of approaching danger.

"Yes." said Anaria, "I have been hearing them for the past three hours. They are coming closer."

"I have been hearing them for at least two. It's maddening, hearing them but not knowing where they are or when they will catch up to us." Lancelot, his dark eyes worried, scanned the high mountains of snow around them. "These mountains mask the sound, making it hard to know how many there are, or how far away from us they may be." He turned back to face her, "We won't be able to outrun them."

"Than we'll have to meet them, whatever their numbers may be, and hopefully we'll be able to send a few of them back to their afterlife, if the Saxons even have one."

Lancelot looked at Anaria a grin twitching at his mouth, "That's hardly the way you used to talk."

Anaria turned her eyes upon him, confused, "What?"

"I just don't remember you ever wanting to shed blood if it could be avoided. You always said that you were a healer first and foremost and only a defender when the need was dire. And now, here you are a Woad and a warrior. The difference is so sharp that it explains why I didn't recognize you."

Anaria felt herself beginning to smile, "You didn't happen to talk to Dagonet at all last night, did you?"

"He might have mentioned something. Either way, it is rather an unexpected surprise, seeing you alive, but a pleasant one nonetheless. I always enjoyed your company."

"Yes, you always did. You are certainly speaking differently, though. When I first joined your little group, I thought for sure you wanted to stab me in the heart as soon as look at me."

"The thought hat occurred to me. Nothing personal to you, you understand. But, our dealings with the Woads have always been rather strained."

"Perhaps I'll be able to change your opinion, than." said Anaria.

"We'll see" said Lancelot. "Now, if I may ask you, what do you think of the other members of our little band?"

"You cannot honestly expect me to be able to answer a question like that. You're the one who would be better qualified to answer than me."

"They are like brothers," said Lancelot, softly, his eyes taking on a distant look, "The bond which we all share is really the only thing of comfort that we have had to hold onto for the past fifteen years. And, whenever one of our number dies, it is almost like losing a part of yourself."

"One of that number as Sagramore, wasn't it?" asked Anaria, quietly.

Lancelot looked at her, than nodded, "Yes. A year ago."

"When I didn't see him amidst you, I came to the only conclusion. How did he die?"

"In battle." said Lancelot, "Fighting a group of deserters from the Roman military, who had turned into thieves. He died doing what he did best: saving the lives of those less fortunate than him."

"I would have liked to see him again."

"I am sure that he too would have been honored to see that you had survived. He would have been happy to see his brother at peace once more."

He and Anaria were silent for a moment as they each contemplated what that knight named Sagramore had meant to them both. Sagramore had been almost like a brother to Anaria. He had been a good and honorable man, and his death was a great loss to Anaria, even if she was now back with Tristran. "And, the other knights," she asked, wanting to change the subject, "What are they like?"

"Ah, a question that almost defies words. These knights that still live are all as different as night from day. I suppose the one that I should start with is Bors. He is the eldest in the group and the loudest as well. He is quick to make judgments, but once you gain his trust, there isn't a truer friend you can have at your side. He is also the only one amongst us who has any steady girl to call his own. His lover is back at the wall, along with his eleven children. You'll like Vanora, she's very much like you."

"What about the others? Gawain and Galahad, right?"

"Very good, I can see that your memory still serves you well. The two of them are inseparable. Ever since Galahad came to the Wall, Gawain has taken him under his wing, guiding him, teaching him and keeping him out of trouble. Gawain is the older of the two, a mean drinker and murder with an ax. Galahad is the youngest of us all, not to mention the one with the shortest temper. I have seen him beat up men who so much as looked the wrong way at him. Strange thing about him though, he takes no pleasure in battle. He fights only when he has to or when there is a good cause. I think that when he returns home, he won't take another life if he can help it."

"A varied group indeed." said Anaria, "I look forward to getting to know them better."

"I'm afraid that there won't be much time for that."

"What do you mean?"

"Our fifteen ears of servitude is over, is almost over. After this mission is over, we get out discharge papers and than we return home." Lancelot's voice was filled with fervor and excitement. He didn't notice the haunted look that suddenly passed over Anaria's face. "After fifteen years of slavery and near experiences, we're going back to where we came from. Freedom will be ours for the taking."

He than noticed Anaria's look, "What's the matter, Anaria?"

"Nothing, Lancelot. I am happy for you, you deserve it, but are all of you going back to Sarmatia?"

"I am not absolutely sure, but I would assume so. Britain isn't where our hearts truly lie, and after fifteen years, in a few weeks it won't matter to us what happens to this place."

Had Anaria been completely attentive to Lancelot's words she would have been understandably angry that Lancelot and the other knights would so callously abandon a country that they had worked so hard to defend, at a time when their presence could make some difference. But she couldn't think those things; there was only one thing that she truly could think. Tristran would be granted his freedom in less than two weeks. And than what would he do?

Surely he would not want to stay here, in Britain, with its haunting memories and pain. If he left this country, she knew she wouldn't be able to go with him. Britain was her home and she couldn't imagine being anywhere else. If he left, though, she wouldn't be able to survive without him. Anaria feared, either with cause or without, that after just getting Tristran back, she would lose him already.

However before her thoughts could go much further down this dark and depressing path, she was mercifully spared by the pounding of hooves from the front of the caravan. Dagonet, thundered up to them, and drew his horse to a stop in front of them. "Lancelot, Anaria. Arthur has requested your presence at the caravan's front."

"What's the matter?" asked Anaria, as they prepared to accompany Dagonet.

"Trouble." was the only thing that Dagonet said.

* * *

The lake was at least one mile wide, and who knew how many miles deep. The ice lay thick upon the water, hiding the dangerous death that lurked beneath it should a person set even one foot wrong. The wind moaned through the narrow alley between the two mountains, creating an eerie dirge that fit well with the ominous sheet of ice that lay stretched before them.

As Anaria pulled Celeste to a halt beside Tristran, Arthur, and the other knights, she heard Arthur ask Tristran "Is there any other way?"

"No," said Tristran, matter-of-factly, "We have to cross the ice."

Arthur looked at Anaria, as if to confirm this, she nodded. "He speaks the truth. During the warmer months, we normally cross this lake by boat. But there is no other way during the winter."

"Has anyone ever tried?" asked Lancelot.

Anaria laughed humorlessly, "No one has ever tried, because no one in their right mind stays up in these mountains for the winter. By crossing this lake at this time of year, we'll be doing something none of my people have done before."

Lancelot muttered something that was unintelligible, but which Anaria could well guess the meaning of. Meanwhile Arthur spread the word to Jols. "Get then all out of the carriages. Tell them to spread out.

Jols turned his horse and rode back to pass the word along to the caravan. Anaria and the rest of the knights dismounted. The rest of the caravan soon caught up with them, and began what was the most perilous part of their journey through the mountains so far.

Small step by small step, the caravan inched its way along the ice. The danger of their situation when halfway out on the lake, the ice began to creak and groan, a reminder to the travelers not to set a foot wrong, or they would pay a heavy price for it.

Arthur, who was at the front of the column held up, suddenly held up his hand, and the caravan ground to a halt. Anaria was puzzled as to why they had stopped, but an instant later, she heard what Arthur had sensed before anyone else.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Drums. Saxon drums, and they were close, closer than they had been at any other oint that day. Anaria sensed that they had only a few minutes before they caught up to the carvan.

The knights, in that drum filled hush upon the lake, looked at one another. Arthur turned his horse around to face them, and asked something enormous of them in one simple word. "Knights..."

Bors was the first one to speak, "Well, I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind, my arse is hurting."

Tristran was the next one to second the idea, "Never liked looking over my shoulder anyway."

"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket." said Gawain.

"We'll finally get a look at the bastards." said Galahad, looking like he was itching for a fight.

Dagonet was already moving, and it was clear what his choice had been all along, "Here." he said, sternly, with no hesitation, "Now."

Lancelot said only, "Orders, Commander?"

That was the only confirmation that Arthur needed to hear. He handed his horse off to Jols and began to give orders to the caravan.

Guinevere came up beside Anaria who was standing on her own, deciding what the right course of action could be. "Are you going to fight?" Guinevere asked.

"What do you think?" was all Anaria said. Though she knew that battle on the ice was dangerous, and she was afraid of the water, she wasn't going to abandon Tristran or the knights to their fate. If her presence could make the smallest difference to any of them, she was going to stay.

Guinevere nodded. Handing her horse to the passing squire, she said, "Look after her, Jols. She means a lot to me."

Jols gave her and Guinevere a curious look, but see the deadly earnestness in both their eyes, he didn't try to argue. Instead he merely nodded, and took Celeste with him, along with the other horses.

She and Guinevere walked purposefully over to Arthur, who was instructing the villager Ganis in his next move. Anaria didn't hear all of what Arthur said. Something about tracking the coastline, to avoid the main group of the Saxon army who were walking inland to the wall.

Ganis looked worried and disbelieving, "you're seven against two hundred."

"nine." said Guinevere suddenly, from behind Arthur. She glanced at her cousin than back at Arthur's steady expression. "You could two other bows." without even waiting for Arthur's nod, they headed for the line of knights who were forming on the far side of the lake.

Tristran heard rather than saw Anaria's approach. He glanced up and asked with his eyes, 'are you sure?'

Anaria met his eyes, and said gently, "I couldn't leave you to get killed. Besides, you need somebody to watch your back."

Tristran nodded, and smiled as he went back to his preparations. Now, if he was going to die, at least he was going to die with Anaria beside him.

The caravan began to move on past the lake, to the road beyond. Anaria hoped they would find safety, more so than what she and her companions were about to find. She saw Dagonet wave goodbye sadly to Lucan, who sat by Fulcina's side, trying to be brave, but looking like he was on the edge of tears. Anaria especially hoped for him to come out of this alive, even if everyone else perished. And she resolved to make sure that he wouldn't die in this battle; Lucan needed him.

Soon, they were the only ones on the lake. Bundles of arrows lay between each of them, in easy reach for firing off quick volleys, as well as the weapon of each person's choice.

For one, single moment, time stood still, and the only things in that moment were the knights, the lake, the wind which whispered of battle and death. Than, the drums sounded, and the Saxons broke that moment.

Anaria go their first view of the Saxons as they came around the bend. They truly did look barbaric. Standard hung on long plows blew in the wind, while the fur clad men who marched underneath were the picture of monsters. They were tall, blond, and dirty. The perfect combination of savagery and discipline, every on of them trained to kill without a second thought, and enjoy inflicting as much pain as they could. At her first sight of them, Anaria knew that all the stories she had heard were true, and that f half this number was heading for the wall, her people were truly in the greatest danger they had ever faced.

But, she couldn't think of future battles. She had to focus on the here and now, and survive, so she could fight in that battle.

"Hold until I give the command." said Arthur.

"You look frightened; there are a large number of lonely men out there." Anaria heard Lancelot's cheeky remark to Guinevere, who shot back, "don't worry I wont let them rape you."

Anaria saw Lancelot smile slightly, probably because he had encountered another woman that he couldn't move with sweet talk, just like Anaria. Anaria smirked at him, clearly feeling no sympathy for his predicament.

The Saxons paused at the lake's edge, as if sizing up the quarry that they had tracked for so long. Anaria could see that they were reluctant to cross the ice just yet, and if they attacked they would do so cautiously. "Good," she thought, then they would be more time to pick off more of their ranks.

Finally, one of the archers on the Saxon side stepped forward on a command from his leader and notched an arrow to his bow. It fell woefully short. Anaria scoffed at the attempt. The Saxon bows were crude, the archer barely even able to draw it back sufficiently to gain any distance. They obviously hadn't thought that there perhaps might e a better way to fire off arrows.

"I believe they are waiting for an invitation. Bors, Tristran." Arthur commanded.

"They're far out of range." said Guinevere her eyes worried.

Arthur just smiled. Anaria smiled to. She might have been of Guinevere's opinion, for the Saxons were very far away, but she knew that both she and Guinevere were in the midst o the best archers in Britain.

Bors and Tristran notched arrows to their bows, (Anaria noted with pride that Tristran was able to load four on his bow) and took at the Saxons. After taking careful aim, they let fly. The buzzing arrows whistled through the still winter air, singing a call of death. The Saxons looked up, and five fell to the arrows.

Silence and stillness as the Saxons gaped at the fallen dead and than back at the knights. Arthur turned and raised an eyebrow at Guinevere, who just glared back and she raised her bow intent on bringing down as many Saxons as any other man. Arthur was clearly challenging her, and Guinevere was taking the bait.

The silence was broken by the sound of two hundred feet beginning the march across the treacherous ice, toward the small group of nine people on the ice. The knights drew back their bows to the fullest extent, as did Anaria and Guinevere. "Aim for the wings of the ranks. Make them cluster." Arthur's calm voice rang out, radiating absolute control and authority, unlike the mob of Saxons who only had fear and the experience of their leader to keep them going. Anaria sensed that this leader was not one of much experience. He seemed young, unsure, and above all afraid. He covered the fear by his brashness and the way that he bullied his soldiers ahead of him, while staying safely in a tight know around him.

Arthur gave the command, and more arrows were fired into the advancing horde, more Saxons fell. The Saxons began clustering, trying to get away from the path of the arrows. Anaria suddenly saw the logic of Arthur's move. The more Saxons clustering in one area, the more likelihood that the Saxons would manage to break the ice. Anaria had a new found respect for the roman commander and understood in that moment y Merlin so desperately wanted Arthur to stay and help Britain against the threat of Saxons.

For how long the knights fired into the Saxons Anaria never knew, it felt like hours but as probably only a few minutes. The commander of the Saxons tried to hold the ranks steady; threatening them with death should they try to do otherwise. Death was visiting many of the Saxons that day, many fell and the scrams son rent the air, but, Anaria could see that it wasn't going to work. The ice, which had seemed so thin before to her, no seemed as thick as that of an oak trunk. It wasn't going to break.

Arthur had apparently come to the same conclusion. Bending down he checked the ice, and than got up, his expression grim and determined. "It's not going to crack." he turned to the others and shouted out the orders. "Fall back, fall back." he drew the famous sword Excalibur and prepared himself, "prepare for combat."

Anaria obeyed, knowing this may very well be her final battle, but resolving to take as many of the scum with her as possible. Her eyes caught Tristran's, and she saw that he had come to the same conclusion. 'I love you. She mouthed softly. Tristran nodded, and mouthed back, 'I love you.' they then turned to face the oncoming Saxons.

But, the final clash was not to come; instead it was through the bravery of one, that so many were able to survive that day. Dagonet was fidgety. Thoughts raged in his mind. He knew that the ice could break, he was sure of it, he sensed it. There was surely a better way. He couldn't let these beasts harm Lucan, or Fulcina. Fulcina. It was only in that moment that the knight came to realize how much the roman woman meant to him, he had tried to ignore it, tried to say that it was just gratitude and sympathy for her horrific marriage. But now he was sure of it. He was falling in love with her, and he didn't want anything more to happen to her. The image of Fulcina's gentle face was all the incentive that Dagonet, if he really needed anymore.

Dagonet suddenly dropped his sword, grabbed the ax that lay at his face, and with a determined and angry roar, he charged forward onto the ice, regardless of danger, unmindful of his own life, and not caring about the arrows that suddenly reigned down upon him, threatening to tear the life from his body, he moved ever closer to the Saxons army to deal out his retribution.

"Dag!" screamed Bors, his shock apparent.

"cover him!" shouted Arthur, as he moved back to the abandoned arrows, and took one up, firing a shot into the horde of Saxons, who were coming increasingly closer to the solitary knight who was hacking into the ice with strong blows.

Anaria, Tristran, and the rest of the knights took up their bows as well. Once more a hail of deadly arrows whistled in over the heads of the Saxons and found their marks in bodies. Saxons screamed and the ice became stained with blood.

But, even all this help was not enough to help Dagonet not get hurt by the Saxons' arrows. He felt the pain rip through his senses and once, twice, thrice, each hit ripping nerves that were already raw with the exhaustion of traveling for so long and the hard test of battle. But, somehow Dagonet conquered over his tired muscles, and aching limbs. He drove the ax into the ice again ad again. From the deep recesses of his body he brought forth some hidden reserve of energy and with a final battle cry, he brought down the ax down on the ice one last time. It was enough: the ice cracked and the lake, smooth and solid but seconds before, began to crack and spread through with lines that looked like a deadly spider's web spread across the ice, and like insects trapped in the spider's web, there would be no escape from death for many of the Saxons.

But, Dagonet couldn't see any of this anymore. His strength finally gave way. He didn't feel the cold embrace of the water, nor the strong arm on the Arthur who was pulling him from the water to the light above. His mind could only focus upon one thought as the gathering mist closed in around him. "Lucan is safe, Fulcina is safe. My brothers will finally get the freedom they deserve. I have not died in vain." but, soon, even the blackness obscured that and he knew no more.

Meanwhile, Anaria was grim-facedly firing arrows into the now retreating Saxon army. She was filled with a rage that frightened even her a little. Dagonet couldn't die, no, he couldn't and she wouldn't let it.

Arthur had already run forward to aid Dagonet who had slipped into the water when his mission was completed. Bors, tears coursing his face, grabbed a shield and ran forward to them both, "Dag!" his anguished cry resounded even above the noise of battle. Together, the two men dragged the inert form of Dagonet slowly back toward the small company of men and women on the opposite shore.

Lancelot saw the fast spreading cracks of the ice coming toward them. True, the weight was less on this end, so it was cracking slower than the other side, but even they wouldn't be spared from the same fate as Dagonet should the cracks comes any further than they already were. "Pull back!" he ordered, "Arthur, hurry! The ice!" he shouted to his commander.

Arrows were still reigning down on them from the Saxon side, threatening to kill them all. The knights were still shooting furiously. Bors yelled to the knights who were still yards away from them, "help us!"

both Gawain and Tristran ran forward and began to assist the pulling of the dying knight to safety, leaving the four behind to continue firing arrow into the dwindling Saxon masses. Those who didn't die by arrows would die by drowning as small islands began to turn over from the sheer weight of Saxons. The death screams filled the air, cut off suddenly by the cold embrace of the water and death. One by one, screams were cut off until, there was none. The Saxons were defeated.

Bors, sobbing and broken, tried desperately to keep the life in his dear friend's body by sheer force of will and volume of voice, "Dagonet! Stay with me! Dagonet! Stay with me." but, his friend didn't move. Dagonet was dead.

The knights, Guinevere and Anaria stood stunned, as silence began to return to the valley. The threat of attack now over, the knights were shocked that one of their brotherhood would die, with freedom so soon in grasp. Even Guinevere was stricken with sadness for a man she had hardly known but that had been so gentle in his care for her and Lucan, that she at least sensed the great tragedy that had occurred that day.

Anaria knelt beside Dagonet's body, making no attempt to hide the tears which were flowing freely down her face. Bors was still kneeling over Dagonet's body, refusing to believe that his friend could be dead, "Dag, Dag, Dag." he repeated over in desperate half whisper.

Anaria could see that it was in vain. Gently she bent down and kissed Dagonet's frozen brow. "Rest in peace, my friend." she whispered softly.

Suddenly, Anaria paused. She had felt something when she had been so close to Dagonet. Se was sure she had seen it too, however minutely, but than it couldn't be, Dagonet's face was blue and it was obvious that he wasn't alive. But sometimes the obvious lie, for Dagonet was alive, but just a little. only enough for an experienced healer to see it, and that one puff of air that Anaria felt when she bent down close enough to feel it, reawakened in Anaria something that she thought was long dead.

It suddenly seemed as though she could see the signs of his life. She saw the slight rise and fall of his chest, the flicker of his eyes, and the feel of his pulse, and she could almost feel the slow flow of blood through his veins, enough to keep him alive but not for long. Something snapped within her and she knew what she had to do. "Bors get back a little, give him some breathing room. He needs space. Please all of you, stay back, give me room to work."

"what right do you have to give orders?" said Bors, his voice filed with raw rage and sadness, "you can't do anything to help him. He's dead, dead. So close to freedom and he's dead. I couldn't save him, Arthur couldn't save him, and I can't see how a little giglet like you save him either."

Anaria wasn't offended. She knew that Bors' judgment was being clouded from seeing a close friend murdered before his eyes. He was grief-stricken and numb, and probably didn't know what he was saying. "he is right," said Arthur, who was kneeling, exhausted on the ice not to far off, his voice was gentler than Bors, but Anaria could see that he thought she was mad for suggesting that she could bring a man in Dagonet's condition back from the dead, "he's dead. Nothing can change that."

"you're right." said Anaria, "the greatest healer can't sure death. But, he isn't dead."

with that, she began to assess Dagonet's wounds, hoping that there might be some way to reverse his condition. she didn't notice the looks f puzzlement that were cast her way by the knights, nor the fact that Bors was still angry with her for pushing him away from his friend's side. Had Tristran not stepped in, he might have pushed her away from Dagonet.

Tristran, who until a few seconds ago had thought Dagonet, was beyond help was sure that Anaria was right. He grabbed Bors by the arm and brought him to one side, "Bors don't. This is the best chance that Dagonet has to live. Anaria knows what she is doing. But, it will be much easier for her to do it and save Dagonet's life without you getting in her way. Let her alone."

Bors jerked out of Tristran's grasp, anger and disbelief showing in her voice, though it was substantially quieter, "whose side are you on? I would have thought that you would understand. He can't come back, he's dead. And who is she to push me away from his body. She has no right."

"he has a point." said Gawain, quietly, "we all saw him fall. Only a person with there sanity in the wrong place could think there in any chance at all for him to survive."

"and besides," said Galahad, "even there is a chance, we don't this Woad. How can we be sure that she has any experience as a healer?"

Guinevere, who had remained silent all this time, spoke up in defense of her cousin. "Anaria is the best healer I have ever met. She will heal him if she can."

"the word of a Woad." said Bors, sarcastically, "that's comforting. Tell me, how can I even be sure if she would save his life or any of our lives if you had half a chance?"

"she would." said Tristran, with sudden fierceness. Bors was struck dumb by the sudden look of anger in Tristran's eyes, and also the look of love and passion directed at Anaria, which escaped none of the knights' notice, "she would save all of you. She would save you, even after what you have said. She would have saved, you," he pointed to Gawain, "or you." he said pointing to Galahad. "She would even have saved my brother if she could. She would save any if she could."

"how can you be sure of that?" said Gawain, confused by what he was hearing as were all the knights. They had never seen Tristran like this before.

Tristran turned and stared at him, than turning his gaze upon every one of the knights, he said slowly and softly, "she saved mine. Many years ago, in many ways from a fate worse than death. She saved Dagonet to once. she can save him again."

that seemed to settle the argument, for none now spoke, convinced by Tristran's speech, though none of the knight knew what it meant, and even Bors, was curious as to what Tristran meant by his words.

Silence reigned upon the little group. None noticed how the axons were running back the way had come like a dog with its tail between its legs. They were sullen and had suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of a mere nine warriors which they should have easily defeated. Their leader ranted, raved, and threatened, blaming any but himself for the loss. He was at least smart enough to know that it wouldn't work to try and cross the lake now. It was a network of islands that welcomed death for anyone daring to set foot in the water.

Not one of them noticed the Saxons. Instead they watched as if hypnotized, the careful movements of Anaria, as she worked quickly and efficiently on Dagonet's wounds, doing what she could to pull him back from the brink. She removed the arrows, and bandaged the wounds as beat she could. That part was easy; what worried Anaria was the fact that Dagonet was turning blue, and he was cold to the touch. The fall into the water he had taken had dramatically lessened his chances of survival. If they didn't get him to someplace warm quickly, he would surely die.

Finally, when she was certain that there was nothing more she could do for him, she straightened and turned to the others. "Will he live?" asked Arthur, his voice somewhere between hope and despair.

"He sustained heavy injuries, Arthur. They would have killed any other man. He's still only just alive, but he's holding on. What really worries is his body temperature; he's as cold as the air around us. f he is to have any definite chance of living than we must get him somewhere where I can do a thorough examination."

"we should get back to the caravan, than." said Arthur, already divining what was necessary, "and quickly."

soon the knights, Guinevere, and Anaria were riding as swiftly as they could for the caravan, with an unconscious Dagonet, hovering between life and death, all unsure whether to hope for the best or prepare for worst.

* * *

In case anyone is wondering, yes, Dagonet does survive in this story. I am a sucker for happy endings, what can I say? I know that this is a rather common theme to do in King Arthur fics, so I hope that it wasn't done to terribly.

At any rate, I hope everyone enjoyed this. Read and review, as always.

Next chapter: Anaria's skill as a healer might be enough to turn the tide of Dagonet's life. Look for some light-hearted exchanges between Anaria and the knights, as well as some fluff with Tristran. Hopefully, it will be up in the next few weeks.

Happy New Year!


	21. Waiting and Watching

Waiting and Watching:  
It was two hours before the tiny band of seven knights and two women were able to catch up to the caravan. All the while, Dagonet still hovered between life and death, and even Anaria wondered if she would be able to pull him through in time.

Ganis, the man who Arthur had left in charge of the caravan, had followed Arthur's orders to the letter; he even brought archers to the front when he heard the sound of approaching hoof beats.

"Arthur!" he said, slightly surprised as the Roman commander pulled up to him, "You survived. But, how....?"

Arthur's grim face told him all that he needed to know, "One of us might have fallen." Was all Arthur said.

Anaria ignored the questioning glances that the serfs cast in her direction, as she led Dagonet's horse, which bore his pierced body, through the caravan to the wagon where he had tended the sick not so long ago, but where now he himself was about to become a patient.

The caravan stopped momentarily, as Anaria, with the aid of Bors, who had refused to leave his friend's side since they had left the ice, helped her to lift his body into the wagon. Lucan stared in horror at the ashen-faced Dagonet, the man who he had come to regard as both father and protector in such a short time. Fulcina, who had been looking out for Lucan as though he were her son, said nothing. But, it was clear from the way her eyes widened and her body seemed to stiffen, that the thought of Dagonet dying caused her great pain.

Bors lingered at the entrance of the wagon as Anaria prepared to treat his wounds. Anaria hated to turn him away, but the number of people in the cart would make her work hard enough to accomplish as it was. The last thing she needed was the knight constantly hovering in the background and looking over her shoulder, all the while questioning her motives and actions. "Bors," said Anaria, "you will not help Dagonet by just standing there distracting me."

Bors glared at her angrily. He was somewhat calmer than he had been at the lake, but there was still antagonism in his looks, and it was clear he didn't trust Anaria's ability to save Dagonet. He perhaps wouldn't have trusted anyone with Dagonet, no matter what their skill. "Don't you tell me what I can and can't do. You don't understand the life you're trying to save. You don't know him as I do."

"I know more about him than you might think." said Anaria, knowing that she had to be calm in the face of Bors' erratic temper, "I assure you, Bors, I know the value of the life I am saving. But even if I didn't know his name, I would still save him."

"Why? Do you have any reason to save him at all?"

"Bors," said Anaria, losing her patience with Bors' blatant stubbornness, "you are not helping matters by standing there arguing with me. Every moment that passes Dagonet's chances of living get smaller. If he's not attended to, properly and soon, he'll die. Is that what you want?"

Bors was about to argue further, when the wisdom of Anaria's struck him. His anger vanished, and it was replaced by sadness and desperation. He gripped Anaria's arms with sudden fierceness, and his voice was shaking. "Save him. You've got to save him. Please save him."

Anaria's face switched from sternness to compassion, "I give you my word that I will do all that I can. But, you must trust me, and let me begin my work. What would Dagonet say right now if he were to see you?"

Bors, though crying, actually managed to smile. "Dagonet isn't much for talking. But, he would probably say that I should cut the blubbin' and we should start traveling once more."

Anaria smiled to, "That's what I think he would say too. So what are we standing here for?"

Bors let her go and nodded, "You're right. Why are we just standing here?" He mounted his horse, but before he rode off, he cast one more glance at Dagonet's body, and turned once more back to the woman who now stood as a shield between him and death, "Try, Anaria, please" And than he rode off.

Anaria got into the wagon, as the caravan began moving again. There she saw Lucan was holding onto Dagonet's hand and crying over the knight's body. Fulcina was there trying to comfort him, with very little result. Anaria knelt down beside the boy, and stroked his hair. She had been thinking that perhaps it would be best if Lucan weren't there to see her treat Dagonet, but, now she saw that it would be useless too plead with him. Lucan had lost everything in the prison of Marius; Dagonet was now the only thing he could cling to. And as for Fulcina, it was no use asking her to leave either. She looked at Anaria pleadingly, asking her without words for her to be allowed to stay. Fulcina's pleading look and Lucan crying over Dagonet moved Anaria more than any words could.

"Very well," she said to their unspoken request, "but please keep quiet, I need to concentrate."

Through much of the night, the chances of Dagonet living to see the next dawning shifted from uncertainty to hope and back again. There just was no way to predict what the rising of the sun would bring. The injuries Dagonet had received from the Saxon arrows had opened once more on his way to the caravan from the lake, and he had lost substantial blood. That combined with his hypothermia made it impossible for Anaria to know whether he would die a servant to the Roman Empire or be able live to breath freedom once more. But still, as she done years ago, she refused to give up.

Abut three in the morning, there was nothing more that she could do except sit by him and administer what little medicine she could give. As she sat back on her heels and watched the steady rising and falling of Dagonet's chest, she found herself beginning to think about something which had occurred to her at different times during the past eight years, and it was the question of who she was.

Sometimes she had regretted becoming so cold, so distant from the world, but after losing Tristran and going through such a traumatic marriage as she had had with Mark, she had not known how else to protect herself from the pain. It was too painful to remember being Roman, and so she had forsook that side of her that had been Roman, including her abilities as a healer. She had let her Woad heritage become who she was.

She had become more warrior than healer, more Woad than Roman, and in her bitterness towards her past, she had thought her healer side dead, and only occasionally did she allow it to show. She had believed that it would remain that way for the rest of her life. Now, she was not so sure. Caring for Dagonet was far more fulfilling and peaceful than any battle she had ever been in. Anaria was beginning to sense that within her the Roman side which had lain dormant for so long was now beginning to reawaken and was finding itself in conflict with the Woad side of her that had been in control for so long. And she had no idea who would win out in the end.

Trying to ignore her warring emotions, she saw that Fulcina was attempting to suppress a yawn and trying to hide the fact that she was tired. "You need to rest, My Lady, there is nothing more that can be done for Dagonet, and I happen to know that staying up and waiting for him to show some signs of life won't work. Believe me, I have tried it. Return to your carriage. I will tell you if anything happens or not."

"No, I don't want to leave." said Fulcina, gently, but in such a way that it would have been useless to argue. "And please, don't call me by that title; I have had enough of that in my life to last me several years. Please call me Fulcina."

"Very well, but if I call you Fulcina, than you'll have to call me Anaria."

Fulcina nodded and smiled faintly. Turning her attention back to Dagonet, she somewhat hesitantly stroked his face, which had regained some color, but was now pale because of blood loss. Anaria observed this action. In fact, she had been observing these two for the entire length of the journey through the mountains. She had seen the growing attraction between the two of them, and suspected that they were beginning to fall in love. Anaria had seen the way they looked at each other, then turned away as though embarrassed by the action, she had sensed that the way the two worked together in the wagon was just as much a desire to be close together as wanting to help both Lucan and Guinevere recover. She also saw how remarkably well they complimented each other. They were both extremely tender and gentle, and Anaria suspected that the two of them wouldn't find it hard to feel affection for the other.

Now, seeing this action on behalf of Fulcina in the cart, she was only convinced of the fact more. "You care very deeply for Dagonet, don't you?" She observed, pointedly.

Fulcina looked up, slightly surprised and embarrassed that she had been discovered, "I-I don't know." she said at last, "I feel something for him that I have never felt in my life before. He has treated so differently than I have ever known to be treated." She looked into Anaria's eyes and saw in them someone that she could trust, "You see my mother went insane when I was only a child, and my father spent much of his time caring for her. He never had much time for me and when I was ten, she died. My father grew cold, as well as distant, and I was never able to get through to him.

"Then, when I came of age, I was married to Marius. The day I saw him, I knew I was going to be wedding a snake and a weasel in the same man. He treated me like dirt and his interest in me soon dwindled to a shadow. He was to busy abusing his power and innocent people to worry about me. He was only slightly more attentive when he found out I was with child. He was favored by the Pope, but he had many enemies in Rome, so we were sent to Britain for protection. And it was in Britain that he seemed to go mad.

"With no one to watch him, he went insane and started to become a monster. He began to say that he was a messenger of God and that if any defied him; it was a sin that had no hope of salvation. I think that he told that lie so much he began to believe it. Of course some tried to defy him, but they always ended up in that horrible torture chamber, attended by priests who were as mad as my husband.

"I became so appalled by his behavior that I decided start a little rebellion of my own. I went down to that place whenever I could, to give what comfort I could; the people who were condemned to die in that place began to think that if my husband was the devil, than surely I must have been a guardian angel to them. They believed I was the one person who could face him without fear. But they never knew how much my husband scared me. He would look at me, and I would just tremble with fright. My life was always a torment with him. I never thought I would be free.

"But then, Dagonet came, with Arthur and the rest. I cannot explain it, but when I first saw him, it was as though a dark period in my life was finally coming to an end and dawn was on the horizon. He somehow made me feel human once more. He helped me to discover courage I did not know I had, courage to defy my husband. When he captured Lucan I rushed in to try and stop him and I would have, but I wasn't strong enough. If it hadn't been for Guinevere..." The sentence was left hanging in the air, as both contemplated what it would have meant if Guinevere had not been there to kill Marius.

After a long moment of silence, Fulcina sighed, and turned back to Anaria, "Now, Marius is gone, but I am not sure what to do. He didn't love me and I didn't love him, but I am not sure if it's right to let myself fall in love so soon with a man that I have only known a short time. But, it just feels so right to give my heart to the only man who has ever treated me like I was a person, worthy of respect and love. He has helped me to see that I have so much to give and I don't want to lose that feeling."

She seemed to be asking for Anaria's advice, so she said, "I am of the opinion that no marriage is true that doesn't have love or respect involved. You have told me that your husband neither lived nor respected you in the whole course of your life, and from what I have seen, you are woman who deserves both, and Dagonet gives you both. It is very confusing to be in this kind of situation; believe me, I have been in one that is much the same, when I was torn between duty and love, and not even I was as free then as you are now to choose my own fate. However, if you were to ask me, I would tell you that you can allow yourself to feel what is in your heart and also to let those feelings come to their conclusion. You may wish to move slowly, but I can promise you everything will become clear if you just follow your heart."

Fulcina seemed to consider this, than sighed. "My mind is to full of questions now to listen to what my heart may be saying."

Anaria smiled as she saw how tired Fulcina was, and how badly she was hiding it, "If I may offer a suggestion, it will be hard for you to listen to anything when you are about to fall asleep. Perhaps, if you were to rest than it would be easier for you to silence those questions."

Fulcina glanced worriedly at Dagonet, quite willing to heed Anaria's advice, but at the same time, unwilling to leave Dagonet's side, "Don't worry." said Anaria, gently, "I will tell you if anything happens."

Fulcina nodded gratefully and settled down for the night. Anaria noted that though she didn't sleep right beside Dagonet, she laid in such a way that her head was right beside Dagonet's. Anaria smiled. There might yet be hope for this match and she hoped that it would bring both of them the peace that had seemed to elude them for so many years.

The caravan continued to move slowly under the star spangled night. They could now travel in safety thanks to the bravery of the Sarmation knights. However, for some of them, they could only wait and watch and hope, that the bravery of one, who had sacrificed so much for so many, did not mean that his death should come so soon.

* * *

Dawn seemed to be a long time in coming during that night, but when the sun at last rose, many were surprised that it came on so fast. It seemed one minute that the sky was dark, and than in the space of time it takes to blink, the sun was rising over the mountains, dying the snow a dusty rose pink. The air was still bone chilling cold, but the wind had stopped blowing, which made the threat of freezing to death significantly less.

Anaria roused herself from a light doze. She immediately resolved that she would never again sleep in a moving cart at night. Stretching out her limbs as best she could within the cramped quarters of the wagon, she looked over at Dagonet, hoping that he had recovered during the night.

Her heart nearly stopped beating with relief as she saw the subtle signs that only a healer of great experience could see. His color was normal, neither cold nor blue. His breathing was deep and peaceful in sleep, normal, life giving sleep, not the near deathlike state of unconsciousness. Touching his neck his neck, she was rewarded with a strong, steady beat.

"Dagonet." She said, softly, hoping to rouse him. Nothing happened, "Dagonet." She tried one more, a bit louder this time, and she gently shook the frame of the sleeping man.

That got something. Dagonet's eyes opened slowly. He looked around at the wagon and tried to get up, but Anaria pushed him back down. "Not so fast, Dagonet, you've taken quite a beating. By all laws of nature, you should be dead. How do you feel?"

"Like my horse sat, stepped, and kicked me to a pulp, all at once." said Dagonet, groaning as he felt pain lancing through his body, in more places than he cared to count. "What happened?"

"The Saxons tried to use you for target practice, that's what happened." said Anaria, "You gave us all quite a scare. Especially Bors. I'm quite sure that he hasn't gotten a wink of sleep all night."

Dagonet smiled slightly, but it quickly turned into a grimace of pain and he coughed. Anaria helped him to drink some water, and as he was leaning back down, he found, much to his surprise, that Fulcina was lying right beside him. He hadn't noticed her until that moment. He cleared his throat, feeling a trifle awkward.

"She refused to leave." said Anaria, by way of explanation, "So did Lucan, though he fell asleep many hours ago. I thought it might be help if you had somebody here that you were familiar with. Fulcina and I actually had quite an interesting talk."

"Did she say anything about me?" asked Dagonet, slightly embarrassed to be asking, but knowing he wouldn't get any rest of he didn't.

"She is confused. She feels something, I know she does. But she doesn't know how to proceed. She has had an extremely hard life Dagonet. I would advise you to move slowly with her, if you feel for her as I think you do. But, I think that you're chances are fairly good."

Dagonet nodded, grateful for the information, he now suddenly felt very tired. "You need to rest," said Anaria, observing this, "You'll live, but you still need to conserve your strength."

"Whatever you say, Anaria." said Dagonet, "You always did know best. That is twice now you have saved my life. I don't know how I will ever be able to repay you."

"Dagonet, you have already paid that debt in full. But, since you insist upon paying all your debts your own way, I suppose I shall have to put up with it. Be there when I need you and I will know your debt to be fulfilled."

"How will I know when that is?" said Dagonet, darkness beginning to gather around the edges of his vision.

Anaria's gentle voice was the last thing he heard before sleep slipped around him, "You will know, my friend, you will know."

Not five minutes after he fell asleep, Fulcina stirred and woke up. She looked first at Dagonet, then at Anaria, hopefully, and was rewarded with a reassuring smile, "He will live?" She asked, smiling hopefully.

"Yes." said Anaria, "And without any ill effects from what I can see. He woke up just a little while ago. If he should do so again, make sure he doesn't exert himself. He needs rest if he is to recover fully. I should be back fairly soon."

"You're leaving?"

"Yes," said Anaria, "I have to tell the news to the others, especially Bors, before he kills himself of unnecessary grief." She smiled in amusement at Fulcina's face, "Don't worry. I know that I am leaving him in good hands."

Before Fulcina could say something, Anaria had hopped out of the wagon, mounted Celeste, and was totting down the caravan, in the early dawn light.

* * *

Anaria found Bors at the front of the caravan. He was riding with Tristran and Arthur, and Anaria could see that he had probably had a worse night than Anaria.

"It should be a good day for traveling." said Arthur, looking at the sky, which was promised a day of clear skies, with no more threat of the snow and wind which had plagued the travelers for nearly all the journey.

Bors grunted, singularly unimpressed, "Yeah, it might be a great day for some people, but it might just be a bad one for some people if I have to wait much longer. When do you think that she's going to come tell us something?"

"Only when she feels that there is a definite answer." said Tristran, in his usual calm voice, "I have complete confidence in her healing abilities, as should you."

"That might be easy for you to accept, Tristran, but it's not so easy for me. I'm tired of waiting. I'm goin' over to that wagon and if she doesn't give me a straight answer I'll-" He had been turning his horse while he had been saying this and since he wasn't paying much attention to where he was going, he nearly ran straight into Anaria, who had overheard everything that he had said.

"Good morning," She said, cheerily at Bors' shocked face, "Beautiful start to the day isn't it?"

Bors managed to recover himself, "It won't be so beautiful if you don't tell me what takes you away from treating Dag."

Tristran looked like he would have hurt Bors pretty severely for saying something like that (AN Can't you seen Tristran reacting like that?), if Arthur hadn't interposed, "Now, Bors, there is really no call for that."

"It's all right Arthur." said Anaria, stopping Arthur from berating Bors further, and she also turned a warning glance on Tristran, just so he didn't try anything either, then she turned to Bors and said, "He'll live. I almost thought he wouldn't be able to make it through the night alive, but I am surprised at how rapidly he regained consciousness."

"You mean," said Bors, utterly dumbfounded, "you mean he's going to live? He isn't going to die?"

"Well, of course he's going to die, Bors. Nobody can live forever you know, it's not part of human nature."

"But, he's not going to die now?"

"No, he'll still be along for many more years. I expect him to make a complete recovery."

Bors' expression went from shocked to happiness in less than second. He laughed heartily, and said in his more normal voice, "He's going to be all right. He's going to be all right."

"I've already said that at least twice. How many more times must I tell you before the message gets through your thick skull?"

"If it's Bors you're trying to get at, it will take at least a hundred more times." said Tristran, smirking at Bors, who was in to good a mood to notice.

Bors rode over to Anaria, and clapped her on the back, and since he was bulkier and bigger than she was, she was nearly thrown out of the saddle. Though it may not have gone that far, Bors' show of appreciation did succeed in giving her a coughing fit. "My thanks to you, friend. You are truly a miracle worker."

"Thanks." said Anaria, who couldn't say much else, because she was still coughing.

"Uh, is it all right if I go see him?" asked Bors, "You know just to confirm it and everything? Make sure you did it all right?"

Anaria laughed, surprised by the sound. She hardly ever laughed anymore, and it felt strangely good, "Yes, Bors, you may. He's probably still resting, so try not to disturb him. If there is one thing that will make him better faster, its rest."

Bors made no reply. He was already riding away. Arthur followed, but than turned back and said to Anaria in a voice filled with gratitude, "Thank you, Anaria. I and my knights owe all our thanks."

Anaria felt slightly embarrassed at the praise she was being given, "I am just doing what any other person did, but thank you, Arthur."

"You are far to humble. No one else could have worked the miracle that you have done." said Arthur, and he knew it was true, even if Anaria cared to try and deny it. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must tell the others. No doubt they will be as anxious to hear the news as we have been through this night."

Arthur nodded first to Tristran, than to Anaria and rode off, leaving the two of them alone. Anaria began riding side by side with Tristran. She looked back in the direction that Bors had taken, "Is Bors always so, emotional?"

"You don't know the half of it." said Tristran, "You haven't had to put up with him for the past fifteen years. He is the least effected by his roman enslavement. He wants to be free from them, as we all do, but he has had the wisdom to build a life for himself here. I think that he knew that he would never return to Sarmatia, not like many of the others."

Anaria had more or less forgotten about the knights' imminent release from Roman service and the fact that Tristran might soon be leaving her was not something she wanted to think about. She tried her best to ignore it, and said, "He seems to be very happy, even of this life he is not necessarily the one he planned on having."

"He has twelve reasons to be happy, which is more than many of us can boast of having."

"What are the twelve reasons, pray?"

"A lover and eleven bastards, all of whom he is extremely proud of. He tries to hide it, but Bors has never been good at hiding his emotions."

Anaria smiled once more and laughed again, not knowing how much the sound brought such joy to Tristran, "Yes, I have noticed that. Is he the only one who can find a reason to be happy? I haven't noticed any of the others seemingly ready to impale themselves on their swords for grief."

"The happiness of true freedom is what we have all yearned for. But, in the place of that, we have had to find out our own things to fill the void, whether or not it brought any true or lasting happiness is open to question. Galahad found that counting the days until we were liberated brought him joy. Dagonet always found it by showing small acts of compassion for others less fortunate than himself. The others, well, they have found it in various other ways."

"And what of you?" asked Anaria.

Tristran looked deeply into her eyes, and for a split second Anaria didn't think that she could breathe. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with emotion, "Seeing you smile and laugh has brought me more joy than at any other time in these past fifteen years."

Anaria felt herself blushing, and looked away. Tristran took her hand, "Anaria, I see the conflict in your eyes. Something is troubling you. What's the matter?"

Anaria turned and looked back at him, debating whether she should tell him all that was bothering her. However, she really didn't know how he would react, so she decided to only tell him part of the problem. "It's complicated."

"It's not like we are going anywhere." said Tristran.

"Well, then since you insist. My past has always haunted me, there is so much pain connected with my Roman history that for so many years I have just tried to be Woad. I didn't want to be a Roman anymore, so I just tried to hide it. That included hiding my abilities as a healer. I have become a warrior, for better or for worse. But now I find that healing Dagonet is far more peaceful and rewarding to me then simply going into battle. There are two sides fighting a war within me, and I don't know who to let win. I have been running from my past for a very long time, but now I don't think I can afford to ignore it any longer."

Tristran was silent for a moment, as he processed Anaria's words. He sensed there was more going on in Anaria's head then she was now admitting, but since Anaria had not been forthcoming about anything else, he chose not to pursue it for now. "You are descended from Woads, you told me that once, but you were raised as a Roman for almost the entire first half of your life. You grew up around their culture and their way of life is bred into you in more ways than you might care to admit. It is a miracle that you managed to escape corruption. Instead, you received the best of Roman heritage. Had you not been raised as you were, you wouldn't have gotten such skill as a healer, and you wouldn't have been able to heal Dagonet. And we would not have met. Perhaps the answer rests not in your ability to follow one way of life on its own, but in the wisdom to know how to balance the two. You can honor the best of both cultures, Anaria, remember that."

Anaria smiled, "Once again you present me with comfort in your advice. And have made me remember how much I have missed you. I hardly know how I have lived these years without you." Anaria reached out a hand and stroked Tristran's cheek.

The dark scout closed his eyes, savoring the touch that had so long been denied him. "Speak not of the past. Let it rest. We are together now, and I will see to it that nothing will ever separate us again." He took hold the hand that still touched his cheek and gently kissed her palm.

The perfect moment was interrupted by the sound of horse's hooves approaching behind them. They broke apart, somewhat embarrassed by the close distance between them. Bors, though, had seen the little exchange between them and his smile more than said that he had seen what they had tried to hide. "Sorry to break you two up," he said, his smile increasing, "but, we have orders."

"Orders?" said Tristran.

"Apparently Arthur thinks it would be best if the main Saxon army were deprived of a few of its members before they reach the wall. He wants to slow them down."

"And just how are we supposed to do that?" asked Tristran.

"I believe that his exact words were 'use you imagination.'" said Bors, with a huge grin.

"Sounds like fun." said Anaria, "I for one wouldn't mind a little adventure to break up the monotony of travel."

"You can shoot?" said Bors, with slight incredulity.

"I had a good teacher." said Anaria, looking at Tristran with a grin.

"Huh." said Bors, looking at the two of them with no small amount of amusement, "Well, if you think you can keep up with me and Tristran, you're more than welcome to come. Just don't slow us down."

"I'm sure you'll find me more than equal." said Anaria with another laugh.

With that, the three horses turned from the caravan to the forest and galloped off, into the morning winter air.

* * *

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I was attempting to try and lighten the mood in come places, especially after all the doom and gloom which has pervaded the last few chapter. The next chapter will also be a bit more lighter in tone. Just so everyone knows, there is a sequence in the next chapter which was inspired by the novelization of the movie. I just really liked the scene in which Bors and Tristran ambush the main Saxon army and so I decided to adapt it for this story and add Anaria. It should be enjoyable, I think at any rate. As always, read and review.

Next chapter: Saxon shooting, secrets revealed and firelight confessions and promises.


	22. The Final Leg

Hello all. So here is the next chapter of Freedom to Love, Freedom to Live. As I think I said before, this first part was actually inspired by the scene in the novelization written by David Franzoni. I don't know if this scene was meant to be in the movie or not, but, to me, it just too perfect to be left out. So, I wrote my own version of it, with Anaria. This chapter also has a little bit of fluff with Anaria and Tristran, as well as I think some halfway decent interactions with the other knights. I hope that you enjoy it.

The Final Leg:

The trail that cut straight through the mountains was bordered on both sides by high green pine trees, thick and foreboding. Within the shadowed depths, darkness and light moved in conflicting patterns, breaking up definite shapes into a kaleidoscope of shifting movements and profiles. This was the ideal environment for an ambush, the wind could hide the sound of muffled footsteps and the shadows of the forest provided shelter for would-be attackers. If someone were planning an ambush along this path, it would be more than simple to accomplish.

The main army of the Saxon forces, who were marching along this trail to make it to Hadrian's Wall, were looking up at the surrounding trees with fear and trepidation. The men were not traveling easily. They could see that the trees were thick enough to hide a man, or perhaps even several people from even the sharpest of eyes. The soldiers kept glancing at the trees surreptitiously, wondering what other things that forest could be hiding besides the normal assortment of woodland creatures. They had heard the stories of this island, stories of blue ghosts, seemingly painted the color of the earth and sky, seemed to leap from nowhere and attack unsuspecting travelers and then vanish into the misted forest, as though they had never been there, but having left destruction in their wake. The Saxons didn't know if such ghosts could attack them in these mountains, but one never knew.

Of course, none of these worries were told to Cedric, who was too pragmatic and grounded in reality to believe any of these stories or even give them anymore than a passing thought. He believed that for everything there was an explanation, one that made sense, instead of improbable tales and legends, a whole world of which seemed to swirl around this island like leaves in an autumn wind. Nor did he want to hear any of the superstitious mutterings of any in his army, which he interpreted as cowardice. And as many of his men knew from bitter experience, Cedric had no use for cowards. So the thoughts of attack by supernatural forces were left unspoken, for now, at least. As they passed on through the mountains, they tried not to think of just how much danger they might be in.

Suddenly, Cedric, at the front of the column held up his hand to signal his troops to stop. They did, and an eerie silence descended upon the troops, as they waited for what their next orders would be. At the front, Cedric studied the road before him, which had split into two directions. Each wound and twisted its way into the forest, and neither looked very welcoming. But it had been what Cedric had seen on the path that most made him suspicious. He had seen tracks of both horse and human upon the path; more than one person had passed this way in the past eight hours and that in and of itself would have made him alert, but he could also see that those same tracks suddenly stopped about one hundred yards up the path that went to off to the southwest. It was as though the people who had made them had suddenly sprouted wings and flown away. Cedric, in the manner of all army commanders, knew that there was something upon the wind that was warning him of imminent attack.

Cedric considered his options. Finally he turned to one of soldiers, "You choose two and go down that path. Report back to me what you find."

"But, sir, I am no scout and I don't anything about-"

Instantly Cedric had his sword out and had the point squarely on the soldier's neck, "Are you disobeying me?" His voice was bland, but Cedric was never one to administer idle threats.

The solider gulped and said, "No, sir."

"Good." said Cedric, "Now go, and don't take to long. We need to keep moving."

Gesturing to two other men in the front ranks, they started cautiously down the path that Cerdic had indicated, and soon the main army had disappeared from view. They were surrounded by trees on every side. All three were decidedly on edge. At every little sound they stopped and looked around them fearfully, expecting the next moment to be ambushed by a mob of screaming, shouting blue painted ghosts, intent upon blood and massacre. What they were too stupid to realize was that that would hardly be a wise move on anyone's part. The sounds of such an attack would alert the main body of the Saxon army, only a little ways off, thus bringing help and killing whoever had been foolish enough to attack. However, there was more than one way to plan a sneak attack other than a direct conflict. For some people, the virtue of stealth could be just as effective.

There was almost no warning for what came next. There was only the faint sound of a twig snapping, and then from seemingly nowhere, the whistle of an arrow cut through the still winter air, only to be stopped when it was buried in the belly of one Saxon, who fell with a startled gurgle on his lips. The next arrow hit the other square in the throat and he died with a puzzled expression on his face, as though unsure of what had just hit him. The remainder of the arrows thudded into the snow covered ground at the feet of the Saxon who was the sole survivor of the attack. He barely escaped with his life as he raced as fast as his feet would carry him back to the main army and safety.

Within the shadowed trees of the forest, a very well hidden Bors, Tristran, and Anaria watched as the single surviving Saxon told an infuriated Cedric about what had occurred down the road, the attack being so swift and silent that none of the main army had heard it. Cedric looked so enraged that Anaria thought for a moment he was actually going to kill the man, but Cedric somehow managed to control his wrath and passed the order along to be on the alert for attack. The Saxons began their march once more, many even more frightened than they had been before. They kept looking all around them, frightened that at any moment a thousand warriors would burst from the trees and hack them to bits. Nobody even suspected that the threat was only from three.

Bors looked at Anaria, and for the first time since they had met her, she saw able that the look of mistrust and suspicion in his eyes had been replaced by one of genuine respect and admiration, "That was some good shooting back there, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Thank you, Bors." said Anaria, glad that she had finally gotten a genuine compliment from the knight that had mistrusted her as an enemy from the very start. "You're not so bad yourself."

"If you two are finished complimenting each other," said Tristran, who was watching the Saxons closely, "I suggest that we get back to what we're supposed to be doing."

"Hey, all right, fine." said Bors, as they began to follow the Saxons progress from the tress, "You don't need to be in a miff just because you missed them all. I'm sure that Anaria here doesn't need to be anymore impressed with you than she already is." This was a not so subtle hint that Bors knew there was something between the two of them, something that it was becoming so strong that it was becoming impossible to hide it from the others. The fact that Anaria blushed slightly and Tristran didn't even bother to respond to the little jibe convinced Bors even more of the fact. He didn't pursue it any further, but he did smirk at them, just to let them know that their little secret wasn't as secret as they would have wished.

They continued to follow the Saxons' footsteps, always staying in the shadows, being careful not to make a sound. The Saxons never even being seen saw them.

Tristran's had been silently counting the numbers of the Saxons as they passed them, and his soft voice broke the silence, "Seven deep, thirty across."

"I would be terrified," said Bors, grinning hugely, "if I knew how much that added up to."

"It's only a few hundred," said Tristran, in that nonchalant way that marked his character whenever he was trying to bite back a smile, "I can't think that it would be a problem for us to provide a detour for so few."

Anaria cut her eyes toward Tristran, "Does nothing ever trouble, Tristran?"

"I don't think even the end of the world could trouble Tristran." said Bors, "Come on, you two. We have work to do."

The group of two men and one woman left the trees, and ran deeper into the woods, out of sight of the army, but still parallel to their course. They ran until the forest thinned out to form a shallow canyon, on the other side of which, the Saxon army was just beginning to pass by the hidden trap which they had set up.

Both Bors and Anaria grabbed their quivers filled with arrows and made their way to the top of the crest where they could see the Saxons entering into the valley. Tristran remained below on his horse, his bow loaded with four arrows, waiting below for the signal to begin firing. From the angle that Bors and Anaria were standing, one would have to strain his eyes very hard to see them, and none of the Saxons would be doing that, at least if their plan worked, and of course, it would.

Anaria and Bors pointed their loaded bows and pointed them up, straight at the sky. The seconds ticked by, and than Bors gave the signal and released his arrow. Anaria followed suit, as did Tristran down in the canyon's valley. Multiple arrows let fly, hissing through the air, down to the earth, down to the Saxon army.

Below in the valley, the Saxons continued their trudge, looking anxiously all around them at the tree and hills, never suspecting that the attack which they were fearing would come from above. The ominous silence of the mountains were suddenly broken by sound of Saxons screaming as ten, then twelve, then sixteen arrows rained down upon them like hailstones. They had come so quickly that nobody had detected them until it was too late. Saxons fell dead with arrows protruding from thighs, stomachs and throats.

Cerdic screamed at his troops to set up a defense and prepare for an attack from hostile forces. The Saxons scrambled to do his bidding, but not before more arrows came and more Saxons fell to their points.

Up on the ridge and on the canyon floor, Anaria, Bors, and Tristran were always firing missiles on the confused Saxon masses below. Anaria and Bors fired from different directions every few volleys, and Tristran was never firing from the same place twice. He loaded arrows and fired, guiding the horse with his knees and performing turns and bursts of speed that no one in their right mind would try, but when in battle, Tristran was rarely in a state of mind that one would call cool sanity. Indeed, none of them were completely in their right mind at that moment. The tension of traveling and worry had been building in them, and this was the prefect way to release that pressure. They were laughing as they continued to launch arrows by the dozens on the Saxons; they felt they were in the midst of the most thrilling game of their lives. They were taking no time to aim, but rather just shooting straight at the sky and rewarded with screams and shouts from the enemy below.

Cerdic and his troops were turning around frantically, never knowing where one attack was coming from. The minute they thought it was coming from the south, another volley of arrows would come from the northeast. So effective was the strategy, that even Cerdic was shocked at it, and he had seen more then a few clever tricks in his time.

Finally Bors and Anaria ran out of arrows. Bors whistled to Tristran, who fired his last load of arrows, before stopping. Anaria and Bors ran down the ridge and climbed into the saddles. "Come on." said Bors, "we need to get out of their range. Once they figure out our little game is over and come over that ridge, they won't be in a great mood."

Neither Anaria nor Tristran felt a need to argue with on that point. They kicked their horses and road away from the valley. The mission had been a success, and without the Saxons' ever catching sight of them.

Bors' prediction proved true. In the valley opposite the ridge, the Saxons braced for another attack, but none came. As the silence moved around them, they looked at each other, puzzled. Then Cerdic gave the command to attack, and they jumped to their feet and ran for the ridge, yelling horrible war cries, intent upon killing whoever had made them cower like rabbits without showing their faces. However, when they topped the ridge, there was no one there. The valley lay empty with not even a sign that anyone had been there.

"Impossible. What kind of army can vanish in the space of an instant?" sneered Cerdic, to no one in particular, but those closest to him inched away. They knew their leader was angry enough to kill someone, and those closest to him would be the first to meet his wrath.

Suddenly, one of his Lieutenants pointed off to the east, "Sir, over there." On a knoll about a hundred years off, the outlines of three horsemen were formed by the late afternoon sun. They sat there on their horses, bows carelessly sling across their backs, smiling at the Saxons cheerfully.

"They seem rather angry, don't they?" said Anaria, nonchalantly, as they observed the Saxons from a distance.

"They certainly do." said Tristran, "You don't suppose we did something to offend them, did we?"

"Surely not." said Bors, innocently, "Maybe they just naturally look that."

"Perhaps." said Anaria, than saw the commander bringing forth archers and arrows were suddenly pointing in their direction. "Either way, I think that they are intent upon blaming someone other than themselves for their misfortunes, and we are the first people on their list. Shall we leave before we become skewered with their arrows?"

While she had been saying this, the Saxons had released their bows, and dozens of arrows were now zinging toward the little knoll where they were standing. Tristran watched them approaching in a rather broad manner, than said, "Yes, perhaps that would be a good idea."

But, they didn't move. It was as if by unspoken agreement that they wanted to infuriate the Saxons as much as they could before they left. So, they just stood there and watched the arrows coming toward them and then, just before the arrows could find their marks in flesh, they turned their horses and galloped off to the east, to join back up with the caravan.

Cerdic was now totally enraged. He lifted his fist, than brought it down in a swift chopping motion. The Saxons roared and charged forward to the hill, but by the time they were able to get there, Tristran, Bors, and Anaria were long gone and there was no chance that they could ever be caught.

* * *

It was about two hours before sundown when the three riders came upon the road where they had left the caravan. Slacking their horses off from a dead run to an easy walk, they rode for an hour before they were able caught up with the caravan, which was now preparing to camp in the woods a few miles from the road.

Arthur was the first to meet them as they rode in. "Well, how did it go?" He asked.

"Oh, we were able to send quite a few to Saxon paradise and relieved their commander the responsibility of finding food for them." said Bors.

Tristran was able to give Arthur a more complete report, "We cut their numbers by at least a third, maybe more. However, I am sure that there are more. I was able to get a good count on their numbers. There was hardly enough to conquer Britain with any degree of success. Arthur, I fear that the Saxons we have seen are only a part of a much larger army that is marching to the wall."

Arthur nodded gravely. "That is what I suspected from the very beginning. But, your reports seem to have confirmed it. We shall have to be more careful than ever. I don't want to run into any surprises on the way. Tristran, I need you to scout ahead for a few hours. Find us the shortest trail you can to the wall, and make sure there are no Saxons along the way to impede us."

Tristran nodded, and turned his horse back to the trail. "Are you coming?' he asked Anaria.

"I can't." said Anaria, "I think I've been spending too much time in the saddle. I would only slow you down."

"As you wish." said Tristran, as his hand came up and stroked her face, "I should be back in a few hours. Try and keep yourself amused until than."

"Don't worry I'll find something." said Anaria.

Tristran gave her one last long glance, before turning his horse and riding off down the trail, and vanishing from sight. Anaria watched him, smiling softly as she thought of how much her life had changed in just a short time.

Her look wasn't lost upon Bors, who was burning with curiosity as to this woman's story and why she had so quickly captured the heart of Tristran, who had, to his knowledge, never been in love before. What was it about her that was so different? He may not have known, but he had already resolved that he would find out before the journey was over.

Night fell quickly upon the little camp in the woods. The serfs were beginning to feel the stresses of traveling so far, for so long, and were huddled among the fires, some sleeping, others just staring into the flames, longing for true warmth and a decent meal.

Anaria looked upon them with compassion. These people were fading swiftly, and if they didn't reach the Wall soon, they would be burying serfs rather than rescuing them. Hopefully, they would be able to get to safety before it came to that. She could only hope that Tristran was able to find some sort of shortcut.

She removed Celeste's saddle and bridle and began rubbing her down with some of the soft brush that she had found on the forest floor. Celeste nickered appreciatively; the saddle had been on her for a long time, and she seemed grateful for a rest, even if it was only for a few hours. Anaria found herself soon in a state of contentment. The smell of horses was always a balm to her senses. The minutes passed by her, and she felt herself content for the first time in many days.

She had become so absorbed in working on Celeste that she didn't notice that she wasn't alone until she heard a voice behind her say, "You have a wonderful way with horses."

She jumped and looked behind her, only to see that Gawain was standing a few feet from her, and seemed to be watching her with a great deal of interest. "Thank you." She said, "It's a talent that I have possessed nearly al my life. Horses seem to know that they can trust me."

Gawain came forward to stand beside Celeste, and looked her over for a few seconds with the eyes of someone who knew about horses. "She is an excellent animal." Said Gawain, "Strong, healthy. How long have you had her?"

"For a very long time." Said Anaria, "She has been a truer friend to me than many humans have."

Celeste nickered appreciatively at the complements. Anaria laughed, "Look at her, she knows we're talking about her. There is nothing she likes as well as praise."

Gawain smiled and reached out to stroke Celeste's neck. "You have good reason to be proud of yourself, Celeste. You're a beautiful member of your kind." He than turned to Anaria and said, "But the rider needs to look after herself just as much as she does her mount. I was wondering if you would care to join me and Galahad and Bors at our fire. You haven't eaten since yesterday, and since you are alone, it might be more pleasant for you to eat with people than by yourself."

Anaria didn't think to hesitate. She had wanted a chance to get to know the other knights for the past few days and here was a perfect opportunity to do so. "Thank you, Gawain. I think that I would be glad of the company tonight."

Gawain led her to the fire over by a large tree, by which Galahad and Bors were sitting. When they saw them coming, Galahad said, "Ah, here she is. You managed to convince her, did you, Gawain?"

Anaria glanced at Gawain with a raised eyebrow. Gawain coughed and suddenly became intensely interested in studying the snow patterns at his feet. "Is there something more I should know about this?" She asked, in mock seriousness.

"I merely said that I didn't think that Gawain could convince you to come over here and join us." said Galahad, smirking at how uncomfortable Gawain looked all of a sudden, "I mentioned it in passing, but naturally when I said it, he wouldn't let it be. So, I bet that he couldn't persuade you to join us, and he took it."

"Well, seeing as how I am actually here, it looks like you lost it." said Anaria, after a moment of silence, "So I really don't know why you look so smug."

Her quick turn of phrase caused Galahad to mutter something that was unintelligible and caused Bors to break into a fit of laughter. "She's got a point there, Galahad." He said, "Her wit is as accurate as her bow."

Anaria joined the laughter good-humoredly, any awkwardness she might have felt slipping away in the company of the knights, "More than a few have fell to both I can assure you." She said.

"In that case I think we are in trouble." said Gawain, sitting down by the fire as well, "We just might need to be careful of you Woad women. You seem to be able to take down men an easily as any I have ever met."

"Yeah, in more ways than one." said Bors, casting a significant glance to the fire where Arthur was sitting with Guinevere, the two appearing to be in deep conversation.

"I'll take that as a compliment." said Anaria.

"Seriously, though, Anaria," said Bors, his face turning serious indeed, "I don't think I've thanked you properly for saving Dagonet's life. We didn't start out well, I know. I for one was quite willing to get rid of you, but now I am infinitely glad that I didn't. And now you have earned my complete trust and my respect."

"As you have all of ours." said Gawain, and Galahad nodded in confirmation to what the other two and had said

"Thank you." said Anaria, smiling, "How am I to believe that you now respect me when you are letting me starve to death? I do believe that you said you were going to give me something to eat, Gawain. That's part of the reason I came with you."

"Impatient, isn't she?" said Bors to the others.

"She does have a point, though." said Galahad, reaching behind him into the wagon they were sitting beside, and withdrawing some bread and water, "Here," he said to Anaria, "it's not much, I'm afraid. We're having to ration what food we have left."

"I'll take whatever you have to offer." said Anaria reaching for the bread.

However, as she reached for the food which Galahad was offering to her, he suddenly saw something that made him start and gasp in shock. In reaching for the food, Anaria had exposed her hands to the light of the dancing flames of the fire and he could see the scars which were forever implanted on her skin. In the dancing, red light of the flames, the scars took on an angry and livid red color, making them seem as they had just been inflicted a few moments before. Galahad, though not an experienced healer, knew that only one thing could cause such scarring: severe burns.

Anaria saw Galabad's look of horror, not knowing that he had caught sight of the scars. "What?" She asked. She then looked down, and pulled her hand away abruptly, the memories of that night long ago rushing in upon her. It effectively dissolved the last few minutes of ease and friendliness.

Gawain and Bors were slightly confused by this exchange, for neither had seen the scars that Anaria's hands bore, but Galahad's look of horror was rather hard to miss.

"Galahad?" asked Gawain, puzzled.

Galahad was still gazing at Anaria in shock, than he shook his head and said, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

"I'm used to it." said Anaria.

"Would you mind telling us what is going on?" asked Gawain.

Anaria sighed, and sat down. "I suppose that I couldn't have kept this from you forever." She held out her arms into the firelight for them to see. They were clearly dumbstruck with horror by what they saw. Anaria said nothing, but let them look for as long as they needed.

Bors was the first to get over his shock enough to speak, but it was clear that he still could hardly believe what he was seeing, "How on earth did you get those burns? No one could get burns like that intentionally."

"It was a punishment." said Anaria, bitterly.

"For what, if I may ask?" said Gawain.

"Lust." said Anaria, with a mirthless laugh, "This was a punishment to remind me that those who live for the heat of lust will burn even hotter in hell fires. Of course, to a Roman, love and lust are the same things."

"You mean you..." said Galahad.

"Yes, I fell in love, and for that, I was punished, punished almost beyond what I could stand. And some things I endured were not even inflicted upon me."

Bors suddenly leaned forward and said with uncharacteristic tenderness, "Anaria, was it Tristran?"

Anaria looked up surprised, than nodded, "You are more observant than I gave you credit for, Bors."

"Any person who have seen the way you two were acting around each other each other could hardly have missed it." said Bors, "The only thing that I don't understand is how."

Anaria looked from one face to the other, seeing in each of them a look of earnest concern and curiosity. She realized that they understood her pain. They, too, had suffered at the hands of Rome and they understood, at least, in part, what she had gone through. Anaria herself realized in that moment that she not only could regard these knights of Arthur as true and honorable allies, she could count them as true friends. And, with that sudden understanding, she knew that they she needed to tell them.

And so, she told to them the story that she had told so few people. She started from the beginning and told them everything, from her first sight of him to the night when they had been forced apart for what seemed like forever. She told them of their passion for each other, the happiness that they had brought each other, but how that same passion had ultimately brought about their own undoing. Their inability to stay away from each other, even after she had agreed to marry Mark, had led them straight into suffering. After the night when they had been tortured ("punished for their sin" in the words of the Romans who were responsible for carrying it out), they had each believed that the other was dead. And it was not until they had seen each other mere days ago, that they had known the truth.

When she, at last, finished the story, Bors, the loudest of all the knights in voicing his opinions, was the first to speak, "So, you were tortured, nearly killed just for falling in love with someone below your station. That's all?"

"I am surprised that you find that so hard to believe."

Bors shook his head, "Oh, believe me, I never held any love for Rome or what it stands for. But not even I thought they could be capable of something like this."

"You have been through thins that would have killed any other person." Said Gawain.

"They still hurt sometimes, even if just in my dreams, for I still have nightmares."

"Is this the Rome that we have been fighting for?" exploded Galahad, who had been fuming by the fire ever since Anaria had finished her narrative, "The Rome that beats and torments innocent people for crimes that don't exist? The nation that relies on others to do their dirty work for them, and then runs at the first sign of danger?"

"Galahad, please." Anaria said to the young knight, "I can understand how you feel, but it is in the past now, and as far as I am concerned that is where it will stay now. Tristran and I are together now, that is all that matters now."

Galahad calmed down, though it was quite clear that he was angry about more than simply Anaria's story. It was also all the things that he had himself had endured at the hands of the Romans which fueled his frustration. " I only wish that I hadn't been forced to waste fifteen years of my life fighting for a cause that wasn't mine, all for a country that doesn't know the meaning of honor or courage."

"Was it really as much of a waste as you think it?" asked Anaria, after looking at Galahad thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" asked Galahad.

"Have you ever stopped to consider how much good you have done here? You have stayed and fought for justice when you could have run. You have probably saved more innocent lives than you are aware of. We are where we are in life for a purpose, even if you cannot see what that purpose may be." Galahad snorted and looked away. It was clear that he didn't want to believe Anaria, though some part of him couldn't deny the logic in her argument. "Well," said Anaria, after a moment of silence, "if you don't want to think that you have been fighting for Rome all these years, than perhaps who you have been truly fighting for is Arthur."

Galahad looked back at her. "I think," he said, slowly, "that is something I could live with."

The sound of approaching hoof beats suddenly split the night darkness of the forest and brought an abrupt end to conversation. Anaria glanced to her left and saw Tristran's horse galloping into the camp through the shadows of the forest, and she instantly smiled.

"It seems as though the real man you've been waiting for has finally arrived." said Bors, grinning at Anaria's reaction, "I'm thinking that Tristran is more interested in seeing you than he is anyone else. It would be a same to keep him waiting any longer than necessary."

"Yes, I think it would." said Anaria. Getting up from the fire, she nodded to the group of men who were seated around it, "Good night, and gentlemen. It was a pleasure."

"Good night, Anaria. Try to get some sleep tonight." said Bors, his eyes hinting something else by his statement, "I know it may be difficult for you, but do try."

Anaria just laughed and walked over to Arthur's fire, where Tristran was making his report. She came up just as he was finishing his speech, "...take us only a few days, five at most. I didn't see any signs of Saxons. I think we will be able to make this trip without anymore delays."

Arthur nodded, relieved by Tristran's words. "Good. You have done well, Tristran. Get some rest, now. We're leaving first thing in the morning."

Tristran was certainly averse to taking Arthur's advice. It was only now that he felt how exhausted he was. He always was pushing himself too hard and regretting it afterwards, however, when he turned and saw Anaria standing a short distance away, smiling at him, he suddenly didn't feel so exhausted anymore. Tristran was eager to have some time along with her. Ever since that morning, he had sensed that something was troubling her, and he was determined to know what it was. Besides that, of course, he was just happy to see her. Like all people in love and especially in Tristran's case, any time apart could easily begin to feel like a hundred years.

He went over and embraced her tightly, and he found that she was not at all reluctant to burrow deeper into his arms until it seemed like there was no space between them. "I missed you." He murmured into her hair.

She smiled in his arms, "What a coincidence. I happened to miss it too."

Tristran drew apart from her, and with both hands held her face. He just stood like that for a moment, allowing himself to drink in her face, then brought her face up to his own, and met her lips with his own in a deep kiss. They were lost in this perfect moment; however, it was more or less ruined when they heard the rather loud laughter of Galahad, Gawain and Bors. That caused them to separate; feeling rather embarrassed, but really to happy in each other to worry about what others might.

As they went off to the spot where Anaria had tied Celeste earlier that evening, the three knights watched them from around the fire, entirely approving of what they were seeing in the two of them. "Quite a couple they make, don't they?" said Gawain.

"No argument there." said Galahad, and after a moment of silence, continued, "It's kind of odd. You think that the kind of love that they share is only found in stories. So perfect, so pure, strong enough to last so much. It seems like it should belong more in legend than in real life."

"Galahad, I didn't know you could be so poetic." said Gawain, jabbing his young friend in the arm. The knights laughed, even Galahad, even if most of the joke was mostly at his expense.

"Well, I wish them well." said Bors, "It seems to me that they deserve a little happiness. The only thing I wish is that Vanora would greet me like that."

"No, you don't, Bors. If Vanora started treating you like that than you would probably lose interest in her faster than you get angry."

"Yeah, you're probably right." said Bors, grinning, "Vanora treats me like she's the ruler rather than follower, and I think that I prefer it that way."

Gawain, Galahad and Bors spent the rest of that night talking about what their plans would be when they were granted their freedom, which would be there's' in less than a week. They could have known at this time, for the choice was yet before them, that when they were once free, they would be faced with the decision to risk it all for the freedom of a nation.

Tristran and Anaria themselves would be lost in a world all their own making this night. After Tristran had tied his horse beside Celeste, and had built a fire to keep the chill of the night from freezing them, he turned to Anaria and nodded to the fire where Gawain, Galahad, and Bors were seated. "I assume that they treated you with respect, because if any didn't than I'll be happy too..."

"Before you say or do anything you'll regret, let me say that they behaved perfectly." said Anaria, "They are fine men, although they hide it very well, especially Bors. Any who didn't know him better might think that he was just an uncivilized brute."

"I've questioned sometimes weather he is or not." said Tristran, smiling.

"To his enemies he might be, but I'm convinced that I've gained his trust." she looked down and fidgeted slightly, "I told them, about what happened between us. Galahad saw my hands and then I felt it only right to tell them."

"I can imagine their reaction." said Tristran, "They probably can remember how I was when I came back from the mission. I was still weak, but I refused to tell even Arthur what had happened. The memories were still too painful for me to remember. I never thought that I would find peace again." He scooted a bit closer to her and took her in his arms, something that he had never been able to do before. Even in the time of long ago, they had had to keep their love a secret, never being able to freely express the things which they felt for each other, save only in the shadows. "And now, you're with me again. I have found you and I find that I have rediscovered that peace, at last. Once again, you have set me free. I didn't know what I do once my servitude to Rome was over, now I do. In just a few days, Anaria, we'll be rid of them forever. We'll be able to live a real life, together, just as we once dreamed."

Anaria was surprised in spite of herself to hear his words. Sure, she had longed to hear them, but there had still been a part of herself that had persisted in the thought the past few days that he wouldn't be staying in Britain or that he might try and convince her to go to his homeland in Sarmatia, neither of which she had wanted to face or contemplate. For so long, men had abused and abandoned her; she hadn't been entirely able to banish the fear that Tristran do the same. "You're staying?" She asked, glad that her back was against his chest, and that he wasn't able to see her eyes, where tears of relief were beginning to form.

"Anaria, of course I was planning on staying. How could I leave this place when you are my home? When I first met you, my memories of Sarmatia were vague at best, and still fading. The only thing I am able to remember now is the sight of the village where I grew up being burned to the ground, the screams of my family and friends as they were killed by the roman infantry. How can I return to Sarmatia as a man when I can't remember what it was like to be a boy there? It's not where I belong. You are where I want to be."

"You're sure?" said Anaria, now unable to hide the tremor of emotion in her voice.

Tristran heard it, and turned her so that they were looking into each other's eyes. He brushed her tears away, unable to bear watching them fall. "Anaria is that what has been bothering you? That I would leave here, so soon after I found you again?" His voice was angry, only sad that Anaria had thought that of him.

"Believe me; I didn't like believing that in you. But, Tristran, I have never been treated by men the way you have treated me. Every man I have ever known has hurt me or abandoned me. After eight years, I was not sure if I could not expect the same from you."

"Oh, Anaria." Said Tristran, embracing her tightly against him, and never wanting to let go. "I could never even contemplate leaving you, ever. These past eight years I haven't been living, I have only been surviving. You have given me back the life I lost, a reason to live for the future. How could I leave that now?" Anaria couldn't say anything, the earnestness in Tristran eyes cleared away any doubt that she might have had about the subject. "Anaria, I promise you, that if I ever leave you now, it will be only because of death, and even than, I won't leave this world until you followed me. No place could be heaven if you weren't there. For now, I have made my choice: this is my home, and I don't want to leave it."

Anaria could make no answer, tears of relief and joy had long replaced the tears that had been falling before of apprehension and doubt. Now, she felt, for the first time in many years, truly at peace and happy.

Tristran looked long into her eyes and did not need to be told anything more. He stroked her face, and than said, "Come, we need to get some rest."

He and Anaria were soon asleep, cradled in the warmth of each others' arms. No nightmares of past horrors did visit their dreams that night. Instead, it was a deep and peaceful sleep of peace. They had found in each other, at last, a new beginning.

* * *

That's all for now. As always, read and review.

Next chapter: The caravan returns at last to Hadrians' Wall and Camalann. However, the adventure is far from over. Soon, Tristran and Anaria will both be tested by forces from within and without, and they will find that there are some things which are not easily forgotten. Will their love be strong enough to endure? Find out next time.


	23. The Return to the Wall

Hello, everyone. I am sooo sorry for not updating sooner. My life has been pretty crazy lately. Hopefully, this little chapter will be make up for that. Just to remind everyone, in this chapter, the caravan will be returning to the Wall. Thanks to the wonderful invention of fan fiction, all of the knights are alive to enjoy their freedom? Is that great or what? Also Anaria gets into a tangle with some Roman guards while saving one of Bors' children, which will presage a pretty major event in the upcoming chapters. And look for a scene embedded in this chapter that, for some reason, was deleted from the director's cut of the movie. Beyond that, I hope everyone enjoys.

Return to the Wall:  
As Tristran had predicted, it took five more days of hard traveling before the caravan finally topped the last rise of the mountains and began their descent into the valleys of southern Britain. Now, instead of vast expanses of snow and cold weather biting into their skin, they were greeted by warm sun light and the welcome sight of green grasslands stretching out as far as the eye could see. And in the far distance, the thin line of Hadrian's Wall could be seen stretching from horizon to horizon. The serfs were elated at the sight and even the very old seemed to get an extra spring in their step as they came onto the more cultivated paths of hardened earth which made it easier for the carts to move.

As they began to get in closer sight of Hadrian's Wall, Anaria had to admit that she was impressed. She had seen the wall only once before and that had been at a distance, but now up close she was able to see that it was massively built and wall organized. It should have been able to repel any invasion from any number of enemies. Should have been, for as Anaria drew nearer, she could see that the masonry was crumbling and that outposts which should have been guarded were deserted. Hadrian's Wall, once a great and powerful reminder of Rome's presence in Britain, was swiftly growing to be a symbol of the dissolution of that same power and authority.

"Well, there it is, the great Hadrian's wall," said Lancelot as they drew closer to Camalann, "the symbol of Roman power and might in Britain." There was no mistaking the sarcasm in Lancelot's voice.

"Is it really that bad?" asked Anaria who was riding beside him.

"You have no idea." said Lancelot, "I will be immensely happy to leave it."

"I actually would have stayed on. The only reason I'm leaving it is because those Saxons ruined all my plans." said Bors who had rode up alongside them and had caught Lancelot's comment.

"And just what were you're plans exactly?" Asked Anaria with a raised eyebrow.

"I was going to have the run of this entire place once the Romans cleared out." said Bors, and he seemed rather proud of the idea. "But, with these Saxons closing in on the wall, I really can't pursue that anymore."

"So, you are taking Vanora and all your little bastards home with you?" said Lancelot, feigning surprise, "And here I thought that you had wanted to avoid all the responsibility."

"Well, for the past fifteen years I have been trying to avoid the decision, by getting killed."

Anaria shot him a glance, "You've done a great job, I can see, trying to achieve that goal."

Bors laughed, "Vanora has been badgering me for the past month. She wants to get married, give the children names."

"Your children don't have names?" said Anaria, slightly confused.

"Just one of them, Gilly. It seemed like to much trouble, so we just gave them numbers."

"Oh," said Anaria, "that works, I suppose."

"And I actually didn't think that he could count when he first told me about this little policy." said Lancelot, "I still wonder if he knows how."

Bors shot Lancelot a murderous look, than turned back to Anaria, his voice now sober, "You know, I never thought I'd actually get through this whole thing alive. I never really thought I'd have the opportunity to get home, but now that I've got the chance to live freely, I don't think I'd want leave my children."

"You'd miss them to much, judging from what you told me." said Anaria, smiling at Bors.

"I've already decided to take them with me. I like the little bastards, Vanora too, even when she's trying to bite my head off for something or other. They all mean something to me." This was the most sentimental that Anaria had even seen Bors, and he seemed awkward showing such emotions to her, as he quickly switched back to his normal gruff self. "Especially Number Three. He's a good fighter."

"That's because he's mine." said Lancelot, smirking at him.

Bors looked at Lancelot, rolled his eyes, then rode on ahead to join Dagonet, who had recovered swiftly under Anaria's care and was now well enough to ride with the other knights in their usual loose formation.

"Do you normally tell him that?" Asked Anaria, who had judged from Bors' reaction that it was a joke which Lancelot cracked often, and from Bors' perspective, it had grown rather stale.

"Well, only every birth." said Lancelot.

"Dare I ask if there is any truth in what he says?"

"That, fair lady, is for me to know and you to find out."

"You would have me believe that every child that runs in this country is yours?" asked Anaria.

"Perhaps, if you wish to think so."

"In that case, you had better adopt Bors' idea of giving his children names instead of number, if, of course, there is a number that goes that high."

"Oh, Anaria, are you mocking me?"

"That must be for your own mind to determine." She said, mockingly echoing the statement that he had said to her. "However, no matter how many children that you may have on this island that resemble you, there is one lady whose children you will never be able to call your own."

"And who might that be?"

"Mine, Lancelot. Do not think that I can be moved by the flattery that might stir others of my sex who are weaker to your overtures."

"I would not be so sure of that." said Lancelot, "Nothing is impossible you know."

This was a battle of wits that had marked their friendship in the past and it was all done in jest, so Anaria knew better than to take any of Lancelot's insinuations in a serious light, for she knew that he had never taken a woman against her will and never would he imagine to disrupt the happiness of one his brother knights. However, others within hearing range did not share this confidence and as she was preparing to retort to Lancelot's remark, a voice which carried dark threats in it sounded from almost directly behind them, "You even try it, and I will see to it that you never father another bastard again."

Lancelot and Anaria turned to see that Tristran had been riding behind them for sometime, silent and undetected as normal. Lancelot was wise enough to not mess with Tristran when he had such a look in his eyes, so he laughed and shook his head, as he rode up to the front of the column where Arthur was leading them ever closer to Badon Hill.

"Really, Tristran, was that necessary?" said Anaria, as he rode up beside her, "He did not mean it, you know."

"What makes you think that I was serious?" said Tristran, "I wouldn't have actually done it."

"Well, I hope that you realize that I would be able to take care of myself if the need ever arose."

"I do," said Tristran, "But, I also hope that _you _know should you ever need help, I will be there. Besides, if you can have your fun with the knights, why can't I?"

Anaria and Tristran smiled at each other, as the caravan at last passed through the gates of Hadrian's Wall and into the fortress city of Camalann.

The townspeople, alerted to Arthur's approach, looked at the odd caravan of people, some with puzzled expressions, others just smiled knowingly. Arthur had tried to save the world all by himself once more, and yet again, he had succeeded. Whatever, their faces held however, Anaria could plainly see that they hero-worshiped the knights and Arthur in particular. They would have followed him to the ends of the earth if Arthur had wanted them to, and obeyed him in everything else in between. Anaria saw yet another reason why Arthur would be so instrumental in bringing victory to the people of Britain, and hoped that somehow Arthur would be persuaded to stay here where he belonged.

The knights entered into the courtyard of the main building, as the rest of the caravan, huddled against the gates, waiting to see what would become them. They had been slaves all their lives, and now didn't seem to know what to do with themselves now that they were free.

Anaria stayed in her saddle, where she had a better view of the proceedings in the courtyard. In the center of the courtyard, stood a middle aged man in the rich robes of a churchman, a rather high one as well, judging by the fine velvet and intricate embroidery on the front. Anaria saw his eyes the cunning glance of a weasel that was looking for somebody to deceive.

As the knights entered into the courtyard one by one, the man barely even gave them a passing glance, and the gaze he did give them was filled with disgust. But, when is eyes saw Alecto, they lit up with a joy that Anaria found to be frankly distasteful.

"Ah! Good! Christ be praised! Against all the odds Satan could muster. Alecto! Let me see you! You have thrived!" He advanced upon Alecto, trying to embrace him, but Alecto was moving away from him, seeing in the Bishop rotten evil and cold-blooded calculation. Anaria had to admit that she admired his stand; the boy was wise beyond his years.

The Bishop tried to get closer, his mood of welcoming becoming more strained with confusion and sudden worry, "Young Alecto! Let me see you! You are here!" But, he wasn't able to get any closer to Alecto than that of an arm's length away.

Giving up, he turned to the knights who were standing beside their horses and looking at him expectantly. All except Arthur, who was glaring at the bishop with smoldering hatred, "Great knights, you are free now! Give me the papers. Come, come!" He gestured to a Roman solider standing off to the side who came forward bearing an ornate wooden box. It might have contained the most precious gems, it could have been filled with the purest silver and gold, but no treasure could be more valuable to the knights than what that box really contained: freedom. "You're papers of safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire!"

Suddenly Arthur stepped out from the lineup and walked toward the Bishop menacingly. The Bishop saw him and wilted under his gaze, "Take it, Arthur" He said, his smile, weak before, now faltered almost completely.

Arthur stared at the Bishop for a moment, a look as hard as ice in his eyes, than said quietly, "Bishop Germanus. Friend of my father." He then turned his back and strode silently out of the gates.

The knights and Anaria watched him curiously, puzzled as to why he had reacted so strongly, but it was for only a moment on the knights' part as Lancelot walked up to the box, took the papers from it and began to distribute them amidst the knights. Looks of pure joy passed from one to the other; freedom, at last was theirs, and it was made all the sweeter by the fact that they had all survived to see it happen.

However, Anaria suddenly lost all interest in what was happening in the courtyard. Positioned as she was at the back of the crowd, she began to hear a commotion that didn't seem to be heard by anyone else around her. And those who did hear it, didn't seem to want to become involved.

To Anaria's ears, it sounded like yells of indignation, fright and cruel laughter. Slipping off Celeste, she pushed her way through the crowd, who were glued too much to what was happening inside the courtyard and didn't question her advance.

She finally got to the edge of the crowd, and began walking down a street that was seemingly deserted, following the sounds which were becoming closer with each passing step. There was no doubt about it, someone seemed to be tormenting another person, and by the sounds, it seemed to be but a child that had fallen victim to the cruel fun of the Romans.

She finally came to a dark alley. Peering into it, she saw the source of the noise. Five Roman soldiers were standing, backs to her, jeering and laughing at a child, a girl no more than ten years old, who stood in the middle of them, unable to escape. Anaria saw that though the girl was frightened, she wasn't letting it show, and was glaring at her captors with an angry expression of defiance on her face. They were slapping her around like they would a disobedient horse. Anaria concentrated on their voices, hoping to make out what they were saying.

"You should know better than to steal from us." said one of them, who wore the uniform of a captain and seemed to be in charge of this little scene, "Rome's soldiers, The ones that have always stood between you and death from outside forces."

Anaria felt her blood boil at this statement, as she knew all that the knights had sacrificed against their will for Rome, a country that they hated with every fiber of their being, nearly every day of their life.

The girl seemed to share Anaria's sentiments on this subject, because she said in an angry voice, "You're not my protection, and you never have been. The Sarmation knights take care of me and my family's safety. And my father is one of their fiercest fighters. You'll be dead when he finds out what you did to me."

"Ah, but where is your father, eh?" said another of the Romans, who reached out and spanked her from behind, causing the child to yelp and turn swiftly to glare at him, only to fall victim to another slap from the Roman she had just been facing. This seemed to amuse the other soldiers no end and they laughed harshly.

The Roman captain, Cassius, continued the taunting. "He's not here, and he hasn't been here for over a week. I think that we'll have silenced any danger from your tongue by the time he gets back. Besides, even if he were here, there would be nothing he could do to us. We'd just arrest him and have him hanged by morning for insubordination."

That seemed to be the final straw for the young girl. She marched over to Cassius and began kicking him hard on the legs, "Don't you dare talk about my father that way. He could take down all of you without drawing his sword." Here the girl broke into a long stream of curses, that one doesn't normally hear from one so young, nor one of that sex.

The screams which issued from the hapless Captain, for the girl had an excellent aim and a hard kick, pretty much destroyed the merriment that had before marked this little entertainment for the Romans. Now, looks of merciless cruelty and anger began appearing on their face, and it was clear to Anaria that the girl was about to pay a terrible price for her courageous stand against the Romans' unjust torment.

She was right, for the next moment, the girl was grabbed from behind by one of the other Romans. Cassius, once he had regained his dignity, withdrew from his belt a leather whip, ugly and cruel in design and had seen more than its share of backs. "Impudent little snipe!" He growled coarsely, "We'll just see how free your tongue is when I'm through with you."

The Roman who was holding the young girl captive laughed evilly and threw her hard against the wall. She hit the wall with a small cry of pain ad gasped in fright when she saw the whip being raised above her. The Romans had surrounded her and there was now no chance of escape. Cassius had a wicked smile on his face and the dark cruelty in his eyes indicated that there would be no mercy for her. The girl closed her eyes, waiting for the strike to come.

Cassius drew back his hand to deliver the first strike, but he never got the chance, because suddenly a hand reached out to grab his wrist and pulled it down before it could do any damage. He was jerked around and found himself looking into a pair of angry eyes, and a voice, heavy with sarcastic humor, said, "That's not very nice, is it?"

The Romans and the girl looked to see who the owner of the voice was. The Romans were shocked to find that it belonged to the most unlikely person imaginable, a woman with the light of a warrior in her eyes. The Romans stared at her, slightly dumbfounded. They weren't used to a woman speaking to them like this, or even appearing so confidant in front of them. In the minds of the Romans, women were supposed to be meek and pious, produce children and give their husbands complete obedience. The idea fact that they were being threatened by a mere woman suddenly brought back their confidence. Smug smiles began to form on their faces. Imagine being frightened by a woman, a weak and frail woman who could do them no harm other than words. They had now two women to teach their proper place to, and they were going to teaching it to them.

Cassius jerked his had from her grip and laughed in Anaria's face, "Why don't you run along and save yourself from trouble. We'll be done here momentarily and if you're still hanging about after we're done, we'll be forced to give you the same treatment. Now get going."

"You honestly think you'll be able to scare me away so easily?" said Anaria, coolly.

"Fine. You want to stay, go right ahead and stay."

He gestured to the company of men and they moved to cut off her escape routes. Of course, escape was the last thing on Anaria's mind It was actually part of her plan. The Romans, by making sure that she wouldn't escape, had unconsciously opened a doorway wide enough for a young girl to get through, if given the right opportunity. Now, Anaria had to keep their attention upon herself long enough to allow the girl to get away. She had to keep them talking.

"You may have just singed you death warrants," She said, as she casually moved toward the girl who was now staring at the cool warrioress with something akin to hero worship in her young eyes. "I'm afraid that by threatening me, you may have just made a permanent enemy of one of the Sarmation knights, one who doesn't at all like to see me threatened by anyone, no matter who he may be." She had positioned herself behind the girl by this point, and she surreptitiously nudged her shoulder towards the opening in the Roman's circle. The girl looked at her for a moment, confused. Anaria made a subtle gesture with her head and the girl understood. She had read the message of 'don't worry, I'll hold them off' in the woman's eyes and for some reason, she found herself trusting her completely. She began to move slowly toward the gap, waiting for any signal the woman might give her to run.

The Romans were having too much fun taking the opportunity to insult one of the ladies of the Sarmation knights to notice this was happening. "Oh, really?" said the captain, "You're one of the knight's lovers, eh? Ha! They forget the women they swear to love as soon as they have their pleasure on them for one night. I daresay that's what's happened to you, and I doubt they would come to your rescue if you called for help right now."

"Oh, I don't think so." said Anaria, smiling sweetly, "The knight who claims me as his own has loved for the past eight years.

The men howled with laughter when they heard this statement. Surely this woman had an overactive imagination or was simply mad. "The knights don't have an attention span longer than that of a fly. Not one of them could possibly be interested in a woman for eight hours, much less eight years. But, just supposing for an instant we believed you, which of the knights' attention have you had the pleasure of attracting for eight years?"

"Tristran." Was Anaria's simple reply.

The name "Tristran" sent a shock of fear through the five Romans. The dark scout was avoided with almost religious fervor by the soldiers of the Roman guard, who, despite being brought up in the Christian faith of Rome, were incredibly superstitious. The stories surrounding the scout were fantastic, terrifying (and untrue, though none of them cared to think about the possibility), and he was feared almost like the devil himself. Indeed, because of his quiet manner, his mad joy in battle and the mysterious aura which hung about him made some think that he was the devil or one of his servants, a fiend from hell sent to steal their souls away at a moment's notice. Whenever he was spotted by the Roman soldiers, and if their eyes met for the briefest of moments, they shuddered, averted their eyes and said a quick prayer before their souls could be carried off to eternal suffering. Tristran wasn't bothered by this opinion of him; in fact, he got a twisted sense of enjoyment out of deliberately making eye contact with some hapless Roman soldier, and watching them blanch and turn away.

But, the scout wasn't within eye contact and the Romans who lived at Badon Hill thought him devoid of any emotion. They naturally assumed that she was making it up to avoid trouble. Thus, the fear that Tristran's name had caused them to feel lasted only a moment. They soon recovered their bravado and Cassius said, sarcastically, "Oh, Tristran, really? What has happened to make him play for whores now?"

Anaria bristled, and growled, with none of her previous good humor, "Watch your words, Roman. Tristran may not be here, but I assure you, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and I warn you, you would hate to see me angry."

"Oh ho." jeered one of the other Romans, "We have us a feisty one here, Cassius. We'd best work her over first before we start on the young pup."

"The girl." Cassius, said suddenly, noticing for the first time in about five minutes that the girl had slipped out of the circle and was inching her way down the alley, "Don't just stand there." Cassius yelled irately to his followers. "Get her!"

However, before any of them could move, Anaria grabbed Cassius from behind and in the next moment, she had him pinned against the wall with a dagger at his throat. The soldiers gawked at Anaria in pure astonishment. The move had been so fast that nobody could have moved to stop her.

Anaria took advantage of that one moment and shouted to the girl, "Run, little one. Go on. Hurry!"

The girl took the advice and ran as fast as her little legs could take her. The Romans made to follow, but they were to slow and to late, and the girl disappeared around the corner before she could be caught.

They turned back to Anaria, who still held fast to their commander against the wall. "Oh, did she escape?" She said, innocently, while a mischievous light gleamed in her eyes, "Such a pity. Maybe next time you should be more observant, eh?"

Cassius began to struggle, "Let me go. I'm a soldier of the Roman Empire. You'll pay for this. Let me go, I say."

"You want me to let go? Fine, I'll let you go." And with that, she shoved him away from the wall and pushed him hard into the group of Roman soldiers.

Cassius stumbled and collided hard with two of his men. He scrambled to his feet and turned back to her, blood dipping from his mouth. "We'll see how aggressive you are when my men and I get through with you."

The five men advanced and spread out to surround her. Anaria noticed that she didn't have an escape route, but she still smiled and drew her sword from it's sheathe. She was going to enjoy this little skirmish, and showing these Roman pigs that not all women were as defenseless as they would like to think.

Meanwhile, unaware that all this was occurring, the knights were just beginning to celebrate their new found freedom.

Galahad was probably the most joyful of them. He, being the youngest of the knights, had the strongest memory of that place called Sarmatia, more so than any other of the knights who survived the past fifteen years. "Fifteen years!" Galahad was whooping and if he had had wings, the other knights could have sworn that he would have soared back to Sarmatia. "After fifteen years, we are finally free!"

Gawain and Bors were slightly less vocal in their joy, but they were no less happy in their feelings than Galahad. "I never thought that I would live to see this day." said Gawain, "I almost can't believe it."

"Well, you better get used to the idea." said Bors who was busy embracing his children, who were just as excited as he was, though the younger ones had no idea why everyone as so happy. But than, do children really need a reason to be happy? "Unless, of course you want to give back that scroll," He said, nodding to the passage of freedom that had been given to them by the Bishop, "I'm sure that Rome will be more than happy to have the service of a knight such as you for the next ten years or so."

The very idea of that made Gawain sick, and he clutched the paper to him tighter than ever, "You just try that and those little bastards you're hugging will be without a father."

"Hey, it was just a suggestion," said Bors, putting up his hands defensively, "Besides, it may not be the smartest idea for Rome to take you on again. You would probably spell the end for the whole empire."

"Well, you wouldn't be much better." said Lancelot, his normally boyish looking smile sparkling even brighter because of the joy that was in his eyes. It made him look ten times as handsome and made several of the young women in the fort eye him closer than they normally did.

There was one knight, however, who didn't join in with these raptures of joy. He was just as joyful, just as happy and relieved to finally be free of the restraining hand of Roman enslavement. But, he didn't express it vocally; in fact, any who had seen him would have thought that he was his normal cool and calm self. However, any who knew him well would have been able to see that his eyes were shining and his mouth held a ghost of a smile that he normally didn't let show. He watched his brother knights celebrating in front of the gates of the courtyard, relieved that they all had survived. But, more than that, he was happy that he now had a future beyond Rome, a life that he could share with Anaria. He felt that he would at last be able to live and not just exist in the hollow shell of his emptiness as he had been doing for so long. In that moment, he had at last found peace.

Dagonet, who had been watching him ever since he had been handed his papers, he perhaps out all of the knights understood saw just how happy Tristran really was.

He made his way over to the silent knight and put a hand on his shoulder, "Something tells me that you are more excited about this than your looks are betraying, Tristran,"

Tristran turned his eyes upon Dagonet, "You would be right, Dagonet. The only thing I regret is that I won't be seeing any of the others' by tomorrow."

Dagonet tried not to think of that. Tristran, along with not being one to display his emotions, was also the one to study a situation with the most realism. He knew that tomorrow, the Romans would be withdrawing and the knights would be going their separate ways. However, this was the first that Dagonet had ever head him mention what he was planning on doing once he was free from Rome. "You are planning to stay, than?" said Dagonet.

"Where else would I go?" asked Tristran. He turned his keen eyes on Dagonet. "And why do I think that your choice is the same as mine?"

"I can't leave Lucan alone, now, not after he has lost everything. He depends on me. Besides, just like you I don't have enough memories of Sarmatia to want to return there. This is where I belong now." He stared closely at Tristran and said, "I don't need to ask you're reason for staying, I suppose."

"No, you don't." Said Tristran, "Speaking of which, you haven't seen her have you? She was in the crowd a while ago, but I seem to have lost sight of her."

"No, I haven't noticed her since this morning. Don't worry though; I am sure that she will turn up. Besides you know better than anyone that she is perfectly able to take care of herself."

"That may be true." Said Tristran, "But I feel better about her chances in taking care of herself when I am there to watch her back."

It was at this very moment, when Tristran was beginning to wonder about Anaria, that Bors was busy searching the crowd for his lover, Vanora, who had uncharacteristically been absent when he had greeted his family at the gate. Finally, he spotted her off to the side of the crowd that was rapidly dispersing, going back to their normal every day activities. He made his way over to her and shouted, "Hey, Vanora."

Vanora turned and though she was relieved beyond all measure to see him back alive, yet at the same time, she was wearing her usual stern scowl. "So, you're back. It took you long enough." She turned back around and began scanning the streets once more. However her eyes didn't get to look very log because it took all of two seconds to find herself in Bors' arms and his mouth pressing roughly against her own. This was their normal greeting after he returned from missions and normally she dropped the pretense of being angry with him and responded to his attentions with evident pleasure. But, today she wasn't in the mood.

She pulled away from her lover and said "Not now, Bors."

Bors was stunned to say the least. "Now, just wait a minute. What's the matter?"

"Well, if you would take the time to ask me, you would know that I can't find one of your children, Number Six."

"What?" said Bors, his face changing to one of concern. Though, he tried hard not to show it, it was obvious to those who knew Bors well, that he loved all the children he had fathered with a fierce protectiveness. And when one of them went missing, he became very worried, very fast, "She's gone? Where is she?"

"Well, if I knew where she was I wouldn't be searching for her, would I?" said Vanora, sarcastically, perhaps a bit too sarcastically, for a look of hurt flashed across her Bors' face and Vanora knew that her remark had been too harsh. Despite their constant bashing, Vanora and Bors could both be a bit too quick to say words that might be hurtful to them both.

Verona's face softened and she put her hand on Bors' arm, "I'm sorry, Bors. I don't mean to sound like I am blaming you, but she's been missing since this morning and I haven't been able to find a trace of her."

Bors put an arm around Vanora, trying to reassure her, "Ah, don't worry, Van. She's fine, most likely. She's got an adventurous spirit that one. You can't keep track of her from one moment to the next. She'll show up this evening when she gets hungry, we'll scold her, she'll say she's sorry and we'll all go one with life.

"You don't understand, Bors." said Vanora, worming her way out from Bors' grasp, "Trouble always seems to follow that girl wherever goes. And there's only so much trouble from her that Roman soldiers will take. Besides, ever since they found out they would be withdrawing from Britain, tempers are shorter. Several Romans have yelled ever since you left for no reason at all. The smarter ones know not to mess with me, but I'm not sure they would feel the same about a one of your children. She could run into trouble with them and been too frightened afterwards to tell us."

Bors' face grew suddenly serious, as the full weight of Vanora's statement dawned on him, "I see you point. In that case, we'd better find her before she does run afoul of any Roman scum. I swear that if any of those idiots have laid one hand on her…"

The dire threat against his enemy went unheard to the world, for at that moment, the sound of a pair of little feet traveling at a high rate of speed reached their ears, and from the swiftly thinning crowd, appeared the very child that had caused her mother so much worry that day. She was running full tilt toward them and kept looking back over her shoulder as though she thought somebody was pursuing her, and while she was looking back she happened to run into her father with a distinct thud.

"Here, now, see," said Bors, as he scooped up his daughter, "I told you she would show up. No need to worry."

Vanora rolled her eyes and muttered something about men and arrogance, but than she turned her attention on the young miscreant, "Where have you been?"

"Momma, I'm sorry, but-"

"I've been worried sick about you. You know how dangerous the fort when you go off wandering on her own. What have I been told you about running off on your own without telling me where you're going?"

"Momma-"

"I've told you that that Romans don't have anything resembling patience, it's a miracle that you don't into more trouble, and even more a miracle that you didn't get hurt this time."

"But, momma, I did. That's what I have been trying to tell you. Some Romans were going to beat me if I didn't leave them alone. I didn't, so they tried to do it."

Bors' temper was suddenly aroused. He didn't want anyone else disciplining his children except himself and even than he never went so far as to strike them. "How did you manage to get away from these Romans?" He asked, trying to get control of himself until he knew what had happened.

Here the young girls' eyes lit up, "They were about to beat me, when this woman came from out of nowhere and stopped them. She was so brave and bold; she showed no fear at all. She kept the Romans taking and gave me time to get away. When they saw that I was gone, though, she kept them from coming after me. It was amazing."

"Well, I'm so glad you had an adventure." said Vanora, sarcastically, "But, it could have ended in disaster. It's a good thing that someone showed up otherwise you could have been-"

Bors cut off her rebuke, "Where are these Romans now?" He growled, "I'll make them pay for trying to lay a hand on my children."

The girl pointed back the way she had come from, "She's over there in the alley. There were five Romans and I think that she might need help."

"Well, she's fixing to get it. I only hope that she's left a few for me." He handed Six to her mother, "Here, Vanora, you take car of her. I need to help Anaria."

"Anaria? Who's Anaria?" Vanora asked after the retreating back of her lover, but he was so intent on finding and punishing the Romans who had dared to try and do anything to his child that he didn't hear her.

Vanora sighed and followed him, keeping at a close distance. She was slightly curious to hear more about this Anaria person; however she would have to wait until Bors had finished with the Romans, and that wouldn't be until after he had at least broken a few bones.

Anaria was having a hard time of keeping off the five Romans, not because she wouldn't have been able to hold them off normally, but being in an enclosed space, it was hard for her to know where they each were from one moment to the next. She fought well, but they had her surrounded and they were using that one advantage very well.

Finally, at a point when she was being distracted by Cassius, she let her guard down and that was just the opening that the Romans had been looking for. She was suddenly grabbed from behind by the two of the guards that she had not seen. Despite her struggling to get loose, they held onto her tight and wouldn't release her.

Cassius came up to her and held his sword to her throat, a triumphant light shining in his eyes. "Well, you've fought well for an inferior sex." He emphasized the word 'inferior', which made Anaria struggle all the harder to get to him and tear out his throat. But, it was useless. Too many blades were pointed at her now to make her able to do anything against him. Cassius laughed, "Didn't I tell you that we would teach you a lesson if you resisted? Remember this when you're finally free to go, with a few bruises on your body of course: a Roman always keeps his word." He turned to the other Romans. "Hold her against the wall and make sure she doesn't struggle. I want to get a clear shot of her back with my sword. A whip is too good for this one; she needs to feel the flat of my blade to be taught a true lesson."

They hustled her against the wall, but, before Cassius could even raise his sword to do his dirty work, a roar from the street beyond the alley caused them to turn, only to see a whirling tornado of mad destruction bearing toward them at a high rate of speed. "NO MAN! RUSS!!!!"

It was Bors, and the Romans were about to understand the full consequences of their actions that day. Anaria recognizing that trouble was coming her way and not at all wanting to be in Bors' way, manages to duck out of the Romans' grasp, hit the ground and roll away to safety. When she came up again, she saw that Bors was in and amongst the Romans, punching and hitting anything that came within reach. The earlier boast of his daughter had not been in vain: he was able to take all of them without even drawing a weapon. No matter where the Romans turned they were met with a hard upper cut or a bone crunching roundhouse right. By the time Bors became done with them, none of the Romans save their leader had escaped without some facial damage or broken bones.

Bors was obviously having the time of his life, and he had the situation well under control, so Anaria slipped past the fighting, back toward the opening of the alley, where she could watch in safety. There she saw a woman who was holding the girl she had rescued. They were both staring at her, the woman with confused curiosity and the girl with evident hero worship.

Although they had never met, Anaria had a suspicion that she knew who these two people were, or at least who one of them was. "You must be Vanora?"

There wasn't much in the world that could cause Vanora to become speechless, but this was one of those times. She had to search several seconds to try and find any words that could make any sense. "Why, yes, I am. But how do you know me?"

"I have heard a lot about you from the knights the last few weeks. They seem to hold you in high regard, Bors especially." She turned back to watch Bors as he continued to pummel the Romans as though they were so many sacks of feed, "Is he always like that when he gets angry?" She noticed that Vanora was still staring at her and she seemed to have become even more confused, "I'm sorry. My name is Anaria. I have been traveling with the knights these past few weeks."

Vanora managed to regain her composure, "Oh, no please don't worry about it. I should be used to the fact that things are very rarely normal when Arthur returns from a mission of this length. You were right the first time, I am Vanora. Whatever you have heard about me I hope it was good."

"Nothing but the best I promise you." said Anaria. She winced as she heard the bone-crunching impact of a Roman head hitting the hard stone wall behind her. "Excuse me, a moment." She turned back to Bors and called to him above the noise, "I think you can stop now, Bors. They have gotten the message."

Bors shot a sour look at Anaria, "I was just getting warmed up."

"Yes, and I hate to interrupt your fun, but don't you think it would be wiser to just let them go for now. You won't want to lose your freedom so soon after gaining it by getting killed for striking a Roman officer, which I know will happen, if you keep on going on much longer."

Bors seemed to think about this for a moment, than nodded, though he clearly would have liked to kill a few of the men before he had finished them. He turned back to the Romans who were in the process of picking themselves up. They were in bad shape; broken noses, ugly bruises, fractured arms, and other pains to numerous to mention. "Well, you heard the woman." said Bors, "She just spared you a terrible fate. I think that she deserves to be thanked for that. Don't you?" Dead silence, "I said, I think that she deserves to be thanked for that, don't you?"

The response was less than enthusiastic, but it was given nonetheless. Bors nodded. "Good. Now, you had better be out of here but the time I count to three, or you won't be able to run away at all. One..."

Suddenly, there wasn't anybody in the alley except for Bors, Vanora, Anaria and Bors' little daughter. Bors snorted, "They can run pretty fast for a bunch of Romans who never exercise." He turned to Anaria, "Thanks for saving a few of them for me. I would have been angry if you hadn't left at least a few of them."

"I'm glad I could oblige you." said Anaria, smiling.

"You watch yourself for the next few days. Romans carry a grudge. One of them might try to get revenge before they leave tomorrow."

"I doubt that they will, but, I will watch myself."

Little Number Six, who had remained silent for the past few minutes piped up, "Will you teach me how to do some of the stuff you did to the Romans a few moments ago?"

"Six." said Vanora, sharply.

"It's all right, Vanora." said Anaria. To Six, she said, "I wouldn't be able to teach a move that complex right away. If you want to know how to fight, you need to be disciplined enough to learn the basics in order to get to the more complicated moves."

"Will you teach me?" asked Six, eagerly.

Her enthusiasm took Anaria a bit by surprise, "I... well, it's really up to your mother."

Six looked at her mother pleadingly. Vanora sighed and rolled her eyes, "All right. I cannot see the harm in it. It might just keep you out of trouble, and if it doesn't, the worst I suffer is more headaches. You've already done so much, that I can't think of anything else that would cause me more pain."

Six yelled with excitement, "Oh mother, thank you. Can I go and tell the others? I can't wait to tell them this."

Vanora put her down, "Go along with you. Just be back at the tavern by nightfall and don't get into any more trouble."

"I won't, I promise." shouted the girl back over her shoulder, as she disappeared into the crowd.

"That brings me much comfort." said Vanora.

"The mischievous one of the group I take it." said Anaria.

Vanora sighed, "You have no idea. That one is as much like her father as sun is to daylight."

"Hey, you don't see me getting into that much trouble, do you?" said Bors, holding up his hands in defense.

"Oh, really? Than what were you doing just now with the Romans?"

"But, they asked for that."

"Yes, but it was just one of many times that you clashed with Romans, and some of those fights were over very trivial matters."

"Yeah, but I never got caught."

"Even when you don't get caught, it's still trouble."

"Excuse me," said Anaria, "I hate to put an end to this touching little conversation you are having, but perhaps you could save this for another time."

Bors rolled his eyes, "All right, Anaria. I need to get back to the other knights anyway; we've got some celebrating to do."

Vanora and Anaria found themselves alone, as Bors began to make his way back to the courtyard. Smiling at each other rather awkwardly, they turned and followed him.

"Are all your reunions so, heartwarming?" asked Anaria, to try and further back the ice with this woman, who she had wanted to meet ever since Bors had told her about his lover.

Vanora smiled, something about Anaria's personality instantly putting her at ease. "No, they sometimes are more so. It's all an act, though. We're always insulting each other, trying to see who can best the other in words."

"Oh, and who won this time?"

"Thanks to your interference, I think that it was a draw." Both she and Anaria stopped and looked at each other. Then they began to laugh. I

"So, tell me," said Vanora, "just how did you come to be involved in Arthur's little band."

Anaria opened her mouth to respond, but then smiled, and said, "I believe that is a very long, drawn out and complicated story. You would probably find it dull."

"I certainly don't have anything planned." Said Vanora, "I wouldn't advise you to try to argue; I am very good at getting my way and I have had sufficient practice with the knights over the years. You might as well just give up."

"Fine, if you insist." Capitulated Anaria, "But I must warn you that you won't believe half of it."

"Try me."

They had come back to the gates by this time. The crowd had thinned significantly and the group of knights was just beginning to move off to the stables with their horses. And no sooner had Vanora issued this little challenge, then Tristran caught sight and waved at them, or more specifically at Anaria, who returned the gesture and began to quicken her pace to catch up with him. Vanora couldn't help but notice this gesture. "Oh, are you a friend of Tristran?"

"A bit more than a friend."

Vanora looked at Anaria, a little confused. But confusion soon turned to complete shock when Anaria finally caught up with Tristran, who was leading Erim, and actually embraced him. She was even more shocked when Tristran returned the sign of affection with unfeigned tenderness.

"Where may I ask have you been all this time?" He asked her, "I was beginning to worry."

"I had some unfinished business to take care of." Said Anaria.

"Oh, really? Tell me, would this 'unfinished business' have anything to d with the Roman soldiers who stumbled out of that alley a few minutes ago, all of them looking the worse for wear?"

"No, that was Bors."

Bors looked behind him at Anaria, smirking at her. "And I'd do it again in a minute, Anaria. Besides, you were the one who saved my daughter, which makes us both responsible for giving the Romans a lesson they won't soon forget." He then noticed Vanora, who had been watching this whole thing with her mouth open in nothing short of speechless shock. "What's the matter, Van? You look as if something's stung you."

"I think it's me." Said Anaria, "I don't think she's used to seeing Tristran with his arm around the waist of a woman before."

Vanora finally managed to find her voice. "I just never thought that he of all people would…"

Tristran laughed, something Vanora had never seen him do. It didn't seem as if there would be any ending to the surprises of this day. The Tristran standing before seemed to have completely changed into a different person.

"Please, don't trouble yourself on my account, Vanora." Said Tristran, "I know what many have thought of me. I daresay this will take some getting used to for many of them."

"I hope this doesn't lower any regard you have started to have for me." Said Anaria.

Vanora managed to get her surprise under control, and she even smiled. "Not at all, Anaria. But I'll still be expecting your story. Indeed after all of this, I believe I am owed a thorough explanation." She believed that she could learn to like this new Tristran far better than the old one. And as for Anaria, well, it seemed as if that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

Well, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Hopefully, the next few updates won't be so long in coming. In case anyone is wondering, the end is coming (of the story, I mean, not the world). And while I won't give away the ending, I can promise it will be one you won't want to miss. As for this chapter, please read and review.

Next chapter: Tristran confesses a secret to Anaria.


	24. Admittance

Admittance:

It did not take long for the knights to put up their horses. In fact, it seemed to take an even shorter time than usual, due to the fact that the knights were eager to begin their celebrations, which would inevitably last long into the night and involve copious amounts of alcohol.

However, Tristran had a distinctly different idea of what he wanted to do. He wanted to show Anaria something very important. So, the rest of the knights were going off into the direction of the tavern, he caught Anaria by the hand and said, "Come with me, there is something I need to show you."

Something about the way Tristran spoke and the look in his eyes immediately intrigued Anaria. She followed without objection.

Tristran led her away from the bustle of the main fortress, out the main gates and into the surrounding fields. The normal legions of Roman soldiers were going through their guard formations while in the fields townspeople tilled and worked the land as the generations before them had done. It seemed to be a normal day at Camalann but, there was a definite air of tension and anxiety hanging in the air. The once secret news that the Saxons were on the way to Badon Hill, had become known to everyone. An undercurrent of fear seemed to pervade everything and everyone. Speculation and rumor as to when the invasion might come to Badon Hill were flying thick and fast amongst the peasants, farmers and soldiers, none knowing how close the enemy truly was. Only the knights, Anaria and Guinevere truly understood the great danger that these people were in. By Tristran's private reckoning, the Saxons were only twelve hour's journey from Camalann, perhaps much less.

But, thoughts of the Saxons and the danger that they posed were far from Anaria and Tristran's minds at this particular moment. Tristran was very definite in the way he was going and it was not long before Anaria saw that he was leading her toward a small hill about a half-mile from the Wall itself. There were small hillocks of earth scattered in no apparent pattern all across this hill, from the very foot of it to the perimeter of the trees that crowned the top of the rise. Paths had been well-worn in between these mounds, while on the mounds themselves green grass had been allowed to grow up. At the head of each of these mounds, a sword was stuck point down into the earth, indicating the resting place of a Sarmation knight who had died in Britain. Anaria, who didn't know this, was unsure what to make of the place. However, judging by the way that Tristran stopped for a moment and looked at the graves with a reverenced look in his eyes made Anaria know that it was a place which meant a great deal to him.

"This is the graveyard for the knights of Sarmatia," He said to her after a moment of silence passed between them, "Knights rest here from nearly two hundred years ago. Every year the number that are buried here increases. There are more dead here then there are now living."

He had begun moving among the graves as he said this, Anaria following him in silence. As she looked at each grave, she wondered who was sleeping beneath each and what story they must all have. It was evident in the way that his voice had dropped to a lower pitch and the way he looked at the graves with respect for the lives that had been lost. Every time a member of the round table had fallen, he had mourned, along with the other knights; it may not have been always visible, but he had grieved for the wasted lives of so many men, many of them to young to meet such a cruel end. But, there was one grave that he was looking for this time, one that had caused him to grieve as he never had for another knight before.

The grave was on the outskirts of the hill, one of the last mounds that would be encountered in that place. Tristran headed for it without hesitation, Anaria following him. The sword that graced this mound was much like Tristran's in design, long and deadly, with an oriental feel that made it both elegant and efficient in what it had been made to do: kill. To anyone else, it was just another sword in this graveyard, but to both Tristran and Anaria, it meant something completely different.

Anaria instantly recognized the blade. "Sagramore." She said, softly, dropping to her knees beside the grave.

Tristran also knelt beside her, looking at the grave, making no attempt to hide the pain that was in his eyes. "It was a year ago." he said, "We had been called out to track down some Roman soldiers who had deserted their regiment and were at large, thieving and killing wherever they went. We searched for days, and we finally caught them in the very act of robbing an inn that operated on the road which connects Camalann to the Roman city of Lodinium. (AN Here's an interesting factoid: Lodinium, the Roman word for London was really a city at this time period in history. It was actually one of the most important Roman cities. It's not mentioned in the movie, so I just had to find a way to fit it in.) They had already killed the father and a son, and were sacking whatever they could find in the inn, food, drink, and clothing. One of them was standing guard over the remaining members of the family, the mother, two daughters and the remaining son. One could see at a glance what they planned to do with them once they had done stealing all they wanted from the inn.

"We rode in, killing nearly all of them within the first five minutes. We thought all was safe. Sagramore had dismounted to help the remaining members of the family. You know how he was; he cared more about those who were affected in the aftermath of a battle than the actual fighting of the battle itself. None of us, least of all him, noticed that we had missed on Roman deserter. Being the Roman that he was and a criminal on the run, he did not even give Sagramore a fair chance. I saw the soldier coming at him, I tried to shout out a warning, but it was too late.

"Sagramore seemed to know that something had gone terribly wrong, but to the last he thought of others before himself. His first thought was to protect the family. When the deserter came in from behind him and stabbed him in the back. True to his upbringing, he refused to fall right away. He turned, like lightening, and killed the Roman before he fell. He made sure that the survivors of that family came to no more harm." Tristran closed his eyes and shook his head. "I came to him, feeling as if what was left of my world, of my life were swiftly vanishing. I held up in my arms, begged not to go. But, he just smiled up at me, full of good humor up till the very last. To this day, I can still remember what he said: 'My time has come, little brother. It's time for you to let me go. I have fulfilled my purpose, but yours is only just beginning. I am not going to far away. I will finally be free to run with my ancestors, as great horses across the plains of Sarmatia.' And then, he was just gone."

Tristran sighed raggedly, the story touching his deeper than he had anticipated. "His funeral was the only time that I wept for any of the knights. He was my last link to what Sarmatia had been like, my last link to hope. Until I saw you again, I have wandered in fog, never knowing where I was going." He seemed to have come out of his deep reverie, and he turned to look at Anaria, "I thought perhaps that you might want to pay your respects."

Anaria nodded and smiled, though it was a sad one. She looked back at the grave and gently touched the handle of the sword. "He was almost like a brother to me," She said, as memories of the time that she had spent with Sagramore eight years before came back to her mind, "He was the first to speak up for me. The first, after you, among the knights to treat me as an equal."

"That was only after you beat him at swordplay." pointed out Tristran, with a ghost of a smile on his face.

Anaria's smile grew slightly wider and she even laughed, "Yes, I remember that day. They didn't think that I could do it. I think that I gave them a fair amount of surprise when I defeated both Lancelot and Sagramore."

If I hadn't beaten you, than you probably would have dishonored the name of all the Sarmation knights." said Tristran, actually now letting himself smile.

"He was a fine man." said Anaria, "I wish I could have gotten the chance to see him again."

Tristran watched her for a few seconds, and then, though he didn't know where the next words he said came from, they were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think of them, "He saved my life."

Anaria glanced at Tristran, "Tristran, he saved your life many times."

"No," said Tristran, a bit more forcefully, "he actually saved me."

"Tristran, what are you trying to say?"

Tristran was silent for a long moment, as he struggled to find words for he had to admit to her. Finally, he said, "He saved me, from myself."

"Oh, Tristran you don't mean you... he..." She said, as the full truth of what Tristran was saying dawned on her.

Tristran nodded and looked away, the pain of his confession all too palpable. "It was a week after I found out that you had... you had supposedly died. I had been distant from everyone ever since I had gotten the news. None of the others I think noticed it, but Sagramore knew better. He knew that the news of your death was torturing me, and he didn't like what he was seeing me become. One night, he saw me walking away from the fort, walking as though I had some business at hand that would not wait. He followed me, to a place in the woods, remote enough so that no one would be able to stop me. He almost got there to late; I even had the knife in my hands. If he hadn't stopped me when he did, I would not be standing here today." He gulped, visible shaken by this story, "I tried to kill myself. I couldn't face the prospect of living on an earth where you weren't also living. Death seemed more preferable to me than that.

"Sagramore tried to stop me. He tried to talk sense to me, but I wouldn't listen. I just wanted to die and I wanted no one to interfere. I couldn't understand why he wanted me stop me when I was in so much pain. What was life to me? What use or purpose could I possibly serve anyone? Without you, everything seemed meaningless."

"How did he manage stop you?"

"When Sagramore saw that mere words would not be able to move me, he tried another tactic, something more forceful. He tried to help me with what I wanted to do. Instead of me with the knife, it became him attacking me. I defended myself, more or less on instinct. It's the only time that I ever struck him with any intent to harm him. He seemed surprised. He said that if I was so determined to die by my hand, why I was stopping him from doing what I so desperately wanted? It was only than that I allowed myself to see what I was doing. I was taking the coward's way out, and that was something that I could not allow. Sarmation pride, I suppose. Sagramore told me that this is not what you would have wanted had you been alive." Tristran turned and looked at her, and saw that her eyes were brimming with tears, "It is only now, that you are here in front of me, that I understand the true logic of what he said."

"Oh, Tristran," She said, embracing him, "He was right. Even if I died, I wouldn't have wanted you to go so far. I am doubly indebted to his memory now. Promise me that you won't ever try to do something like that again, regardless of what should happen to me."

Tristran put his arms around her and rested her head on his shoulder, "I was such a fool to even think that would help matters. I thought that you would be best for everyone if I was no longer in this world. Now I see that it would have been one of the most selfish actions I could ever have committed. I give you my word Anaria, I won't even think about it again. If earth must part us, it shall be only when it is necessary."

Together they held each other by the grave of the dead Sagramore, each finding themselves reliving those times so many years ago when they had been together, carefree and happy in their love, and their times of separation. They lived in hard and dangerous times, times when death and suffering could outweigh happiness and life. Indeed, they had seen more suffering than they now cared to remember; it had seemed to dog them their entire lives. And now, with the threat of Saxon destruction coming ever closer to them, they knew there would only be more.

Tristran raised her head from his shoulder and together they stared into each other's eyes. Anaria reached up and gently touched his cheek. After the memories and experiences of so much brutality and death, the two of them experienced an eternal moment of almost unbearable tenderness. They had just been beginning to be aware in the past few days of the subtle change that was occurring in their relationship. In their hearts, there was a keen yearning for more, an aching want and need for each other beyond all that they had given before. But, still there was that reluctance, that remembrance of too many haunting memories, that made them feel unsure how to fulfill that longing and desire for completion.

"Tristran, where do we go from here?" asked Anaria.

"That I cannot answer." said Tristran.

Another moment of silence issued between them, and then, Anaria got to her feet and walked away from the grave. Clearly, the answers they sought for the questions which they now found themselves asked could not to be found yet in the presence of each other. They needed the guidance of their hearts, and sometimes the best way to listen to your heart, is be alone from the person that you hold most dear. When she had gone a few steps, she turned to catch a final glance of him, and saw him still sitting by his brother's grave, staring at if as engaged in some sort of private conversation with Sagramore's spirit. Anaria stared long at him, then turned and began heading back for the wall, Tristran continuing to sit silently and alone before his brother's grave.

* * *

I know that this is a little earlier than when I normally update, but truth be told, I have been struck with inspiration and the next few chapters are sort of flowing fast and furious. Sorry if this chapter was a little slow, but think of it as the calm before the storm. A lot is going to be happening in the next few chapters, so stop and grab a breath while you can. And, as always, read and review.

Next chapter: Anaria is faced with a reprisal of her deepest fears and Tristran will have to save her and show her how to truly let go of the nightmares of her past.


	25. The Gathering Storm

Wow! I think this makes three updates in the course of a week. That's a new record for me. Anyway, here is the next chapter. Be warned, that this scene does contain a scene of attempted rape. You have been warned. Be advised and proceed with caution.

The Gathering Storm:

The rest of that day passed in rather odd fashion for Anaria. It was no sooner that she had arrived back in Camalann that Vanora had managed to corral her for a bath and a change of clothes. What had brought this on, Anaria was uncertain, though she suspected that meeting her cousin had made Vanora see that Anaria needed to be cleaned up as well. Anaria was not exactly averse to the treatment. she had been rather unaware of her own appearance for the past few days. And when it was over, she had to admit that being back in a clean dress was something of a relief.

The rest of the day she spent to herself. Despite Vanora's repeated invitations to join her at the tavern where the knights were just beginning their celebration, she felt a need to be alone. She wandered the streets of the town, lost in thoughts that she never really could remember afterward, but which dealt on a great variety of things.

She heard whisperings amongst the people of Camalann that the Saxons were close, and could be there that very night. This news came as no surprise to her, but it was enough to cause her to think. This battle would undoubtedly be the most dangerous she had ever faced. She couldn't help but wonder if this would be her last night on earth. Death was not something that scared her exactly; rather it was the sensation that made her wonder. What would it be like, that moment between life and death? Would it come slowly or swiftly? Would it be just like falling asleep, or would it be something far more painful? She didn't know which to expect it to be.

The uncertainty of death was not the only thing that was occupying her thoughts. Tristran was also in them as well, along with the unexpected position in which both of them found themselves in. it had been a subtle change, perhaps, but it had been made clear to both of them earlier that day in the graveyard. There was an underground of desire, a need that was as deep as the need for light and air. It had come to the point where all Tristran had to do was take her hand in his own and her heart would start beating faster. She had thought that such feelings were forever dead in her. She had never believed that after Mark, she would ever be able to feel so strongly about another man. But she was beginning to think that she was wrong.

It was becoming clear just how much she wanted Tristran, how desperately she wanted him. And, as she thought these things over and over in her mind, she knew, that with the Saxons closing in and the possibility of death looming, she could not be concerned with the how or the why. She had to let him know what she was thinking and what she was feeling.

And so the day passed, she was unaware of the true passage of time that it came as something of a surprise when she found that the day was over. She suddenly became aware of the fact that there were not many people on the streets and that she was very nearly alone. She felt herself becoming nervous and decided that maybe taking up Vanora's invitation on visiting the tavern might now a rather welcome prospect.

The last vestiges of daylight were gone from the sky and the moon had been hidden by thick clouds, and the shadows were beginning to lengthen and darken. And as Anaria walked within the shadow of one of the streets of Camalann, she was unable to see the figure that was creeping behind her and was coming ever closer.

Anaria had no time even to scream. The thing that had crept up behind her had grabbed hold of her tightly, and a hand covered her mouth before she had time to utter a sound. A voice that she recognized suddenly assaulted her ears, "I told you, maiden, you would regret what you did to me. A Roman always keeps his word." He chuckled, a dry, evil sound that rasped against Anaria's skin and reminded to her much of terrible memories.

Cassius turned her around and stared into her eyes, "Ah, what's the matter?" He spat, seeing the fear in her eyes, "To cowardly to fight back now, eh? I knew it; you were just a weak woman, no different than any other. Let's see what we find underneath that tough exterior, shall we?"

He pushed her deeper into the shadows. She struck the wall and crumpled to the ground, trembling violently with terror, for when she looked into Cassius' face, she no longer saw just a Roman soldier; she saw lascivious face of the man she had been married too for three horrible months. The memories were too painful, too real for her to fight back. She couldn't fight back, for her limbs were deadened and she suddenly seemed to have no strength that she could call her own.

She felt herself being pulled upward roughly by her shoulders. She cried out in pain at the tight grip of the Romans' hands. Her breath was coming in short gasps and dread had constricted her throat to where she could make no sound. She had no hope of rescue, the sounds of the town were far away and strange, they were too deep in shadow for anyone to see her, let alone hear her. She tried to prepare herself for the inevitable, but it was a pointless task. Nothing could prepare her for this.

Cassius jeered and laughed at her as he drew even closer to her, making contacts with parts of her body that no man save one she would have given the right to touch. She saw that he was going to draw out this horrible torture of flesh as long as he could. And it was at that moment that her strength broke. She couldn't handle this. She couldn't take it. She would be dead before he got done with her.

"Tristran!" She felt her heart screaming, ""Tristran, please help me. I need you, Tristran! Tristran, help me, help me!"

"You are just what I need." Jeered the Cassius as his foul-smelling breath came even closer to her face, "One more conquest before I leave this God-forsaken island. Tell me, where is your precious Tristran now?"

Suddenly, a voice, cold as the northern wind silenced the gloating upon Cassius' lips, for he had been so busy preparing to take his pleasure on Anaria that he hadn't noticed the shadow that had come out of nowhere and was now directly behind him, so close that every word this voice said, spoken in a half whisper could be heard by Cassius, who had gone white as a sheet and his heart had nearly stopped beating. The voice said, "I am right here, and you are about to die."

Cassius' natural cowardice began to overtake him, "No, please. I didn't mean anything by it, honest. Please, no don't-" His words were cut off by Tristran's strangling hand, and firm grip upon his arm, and it was in that moment that Cassius understood the meaning of total, complete terror.

Tristran jerked him off Anaria, who slumped against the wall, her strength completely gone. Cassius had nowhere to look but into the scout's burning eyes. Had he ever wondered what hell was been like, he was able to see a little of it in Tristran's eyes. Never had he seen such passionate rage nor such deep hatred embedded in one man's gaze and he knew that he would be getting nothing even resembling mercy from this man. it was useless to plead in any case. The scout was holding him so tightly by the throat that he could hardly breathe, much less speak.

Tristran spoke, his voice deadly with fury, "You could not have chosen a more awful crime to die for, Roman." Tristran spat the word as though the name itself was the deadliest curse and highest insult he could give to a man, "You should have had the brains never to touch Anaria in any way. Now, you're about to wish that you had never been born."

He shoved Cassius away from him, and the unfortunate Roman captain stumbled a few steps away, coughing and spluttering as he fought for breath. But, it was only a short reprieve, for Tristran was upon him in the next heartbeat. He grabbed him by the shoulder, turning Cassius so that he was facing him once again. The next noise that came in the Roman's head sounded like the loudest thunderclap he had ever heard. Actually it was the sound of his breaking nose. He had escaped Bors' fists, only to fall victim to the iron fist of Tristran, who had a strike that could be deadly when he was angry enough to administer it. Seeing that he was completely enraged, it won't be hard to believe that Cassius was lucky to get away with just a broken nose.

Cassius tried to fight back, but as stars and bright colored lights were flashing before his vision, it was hard for him to see clearly. He threw a wild punch, but Tristran dodged it easily. Grabbing Cassius by the arm, Tristran threw him hard to the ground. Cassius landed with a thud and a groan. Tristran approached him, stalking him almost like a wolf, his dark eyes nearly glowing with rage. Cassius tried to squirm away from him, but Tristran wasn't about to let his pray get away unscathed. Tristran drew one of the daggers that he always carried with him, and grabbed Cassius in such a strong grip that Cassius knew there would be no chance of escape. Terror had robbed him of his tongue, and he could only stare into the scout's merciless eyes.

Tristran stared at Cassius and said, "I don't know why I am letting you off so easily. But, this will almost be as satisfying as watching you die instantly." Cassius squealed with fright, and tried to fight his way out of Tristran's grasp, but the knight held on the tighter and with an almost grim satisfaction drove the dagger into Cassius' flesh.

The knights, celebrating their new found freedom at the tavern, had not expected anything to interrupt them. They had certainly not expected to hear a cry of pain that sounded like that of some sort of wounded animal that was very close to death. Curiosity more than anything drove their footsteps to find out what had caused that strange noise. Very rarely could a sound that belonged on the battlefield be heard within the walls of the fortress.

None suspected to see what they saw when they arrived at the scene. Tristran was standing over the body of a moaning and screaming Roman soldier, and in the dim light of the moon which had appeared from behind the cloud bank, they could see the spreading dark stains which were coming from the knife wounds in the stomach and rib cage. Over him stood Tristran, his body rigid, clearly enraged. The knights knew Tristran knew that he maintained tight control over his emotions, even the emotions of anger and this was one of the few times that he had allowed his nearly animalistic temper to guide his actions.

None of this surprised them so much as the sight which greeted their eyes in the shadows by the wall; slumped against the wall's stones was Anaria. None who had seen her could have thought that anything could have made her lose her courage and strength, but when the knights laid eyes upon her that night, they saw a woman who had just experienced a living nightmare, one bad enough to cause her to faint.

Tristran was almost smiling as he gazed down at the Roman he had wounded. Cassius was twisting and groaning, trying to stop the blood which was pouring from him like a river, "Roman scum!" He snarled as he kicked the Roman hard in the stomach, causing another shriek to issue from the Cassius' mouth, "You deserve all the pain that you can get. You enslaved me and my brother for fifteen years. You took away everything that I ever had. I lost my brother forever and Anaria for eight years. My brother I cannot get back, but don't think for a moment that you can take Anaria away from me again."

A crowd was beginning to gather. Among them, were members of the Roman military who were pushing through the crowd, trying to get to their fallen comrade. They had gotten it into their minds to punish this person severely for this serious crime against Rome's sovereignty. But, when they got to the center of the crowd and saw Tristran and the work he had committed that night, any foolish thought such as that died in the instant they saw his flashing eyes, daring them to come closer and try something. They wisely backed off.

Tristran was wise enough to see that it was over, but that was all right with him. He had accomplished what he had set out to do, which was to protect Anaria. "Enjoy what life you have left. You will be dead by the morning. And for your sake, I hope that you will suffer more than you ever have in your whole miserable existence."

With that last biting remark, he turned his eyes from the man and made his way over to Anaria. Gently stroking her face, he checked to make sure that there were no physical wounds to correspond with those that had been awakened in her soul. Fortunately he found none. His hand upon her cheek, he felt his heart breaking for her, "Anaria, what did he do to you?" He gently picked her up, as though she weighed nothing at all, and began to make his way through the crowd of people, who were stunned to see Tristran, the legendary dark scout and killer, treat this woman with a tenderness many assumed her didn't have.

As he passed the knights, Lancelot grabbed Tristran by the arm, "Tristran, what happened here?"

Tristran regarded him with a look of annoyance. He was no mood to stop and chat. "Ask him." He said, jerking his head toward Cassius, who was being carried off by his comrades to the Roman barracks. Then Tristran moved away into the nigh, carrying his burden, more precious to him than all the wealth in the world.

Since there was no more the knights could do, (and even if there had been, none of the knights would have helped a Roman) they returned to the tavern. The celebratory mood, though, was somewhat palled by what had just happened. And the realization was beginning to sink into the knights' minds that this was truly their last night together as a group. And, though they were going to be free by dawn's first light, there could be no denying that that they had become family these last fifteen years, and the pain which come from being separated from each other was just beginning to be felt by them. They didn't laugh or gamble or interact with other people in the tavern as they had done before. Instead, they sat quietly at a table in the corner, drinking their ale and speaking nothing, trying to savor their last hours together with each other.

However, theirs was the only table that did not take part in the normal roistering of the evening crowd at the tavern. The music and reveling continued into the night sky. Little could any suspect that it would not last long, for not far from the wall and coming ever closer, a cloud of destruction marched onward, an unstoppable force of brute force and unmerciful ambition. The storm was gathering and it would soon break.

* * *

Well, I hope that everyone enjoyed that chapter. I have to say that I like stories where Tristran gets to save the girl at least once, and gets to be mad while he does it. As always, read and review.

Next chapter: Tristran and Anaria have a moment together, before the Saxons interrupt them. The time has come to make a choice; and both Tristran and Anaria have already theirs. And the consequences of those choices will effect them the rest of their lives.


	26. Farewell and Preparation

Hello, everyone. Here is the next chapter for Freedom to Love, Freedom to Live. Just so everyone knows, this chapter does contain that scene of sensuality that was part of the T rating for this story. It is not anything to terrible graphic I think, but be aware of it. Beyond that, enjoy!

Farewell and Preparation:  
The barracks of the Sarmation knights were strangely quiet during this time of the night. There was no one about to stop and look questioningly at the man who carried the woman through the fortress' gloomy halls. Even had there been people to stop and gaze questioningly at the scout, none would have dared approach to ask him what was going on. The way he looked and the way he walked would have stopped the words on anyone's lips, and made them walk quickly in the other direction.

Tristran resembled an enraged wildcat as he stalked gracefully through the corridors of the fortress, cradling Anaria's still limp form protectively in his arms. He kept replaying the scene over and over in his mind. He would have gone right past the spot where the crime was happening had not his sensitive ears alerted him to the sounds of struggling and muffled screaming. But, more even than that, he had felt his heart tighten, almost as though Anaria's very spirit had been crying for help. When he had seen what was going on, he had completely snapped. Tristran very rarely let such strong rage guide him to such equally strong actions. He tried to keep careful control over his emotions, but those who had had the misfortune to feel Tristran's anger on knew that he had the deadliest temper of many men alive. This had been one of the few times he had allowed himself to lose control and nearly driven him to kill ruthlessly and without remorse.

Anaria, however, was his first concern. He had never seen her rendered so defenseless in the face of danger, had never dreamed that she could be so. She had always been so strong. And, yet, within the space of five minutes, she had been reduced to this state. Tristran had not believed that her marriage with Mark could have made her like this. It was a good thing that Mark was long dead in his grave. He would never have been able to hide from Tristran's vengeance, which would have been as painful as it would have been long.

He was suddenly brought out of his murderous thoughts when he felt Anaria stir in his arms. He instinctively clutched her to him closer to him. Anaria stirred and opened his eyes. Her last memory was of the vile feel of oil against her skin, which in the next moment she remembered to be the hands of the Roman. For a moment, she thought she was still there in that living nightmare. But the arms which held her now were strong and comforting, they didn't mean her harm in any way. She looked up and found herself staring into Tristran's eyes.

"Tristran? What happened?"

"You fainted." said Tristran, gently.

"The Roman?" asked Anaria.

"He won't be able to harm another woman again, much less you. The wound I gave him was enough to leave him dead by morning."

They had come to Tristran's room by this time. Tristran kicked open the door and pushed it shut. Only than did he set Anaria down. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Anaria actually managed to laugh humorlessly. "Yes, at least physically." She walked over to the bed that was in the room, and closed her eyes, as if trying to shake off the memories which the events of the evening had aroused. "Tristran, it was terrible. It was like he became Mark before my eyes. I don't know how I would have been able to survive, if it hadn't been for you."

He had come forward to sit beside her, and she had reached out to take his hand, as if she couldn't bear to be physically separated from him at that moment. Tristran felt his hand reach up to start caressing her hair; he was not sure how best to comfort Anaria. He had never possessed the words to such burdens any easier to bear.

What he didn't know was that he was doing the greatest service to Anaria just by his very presence. Feeling him beside her, feeling the love radiating from him, she remembered what she had been thinking about earlier in the evening, before the recent nightmare. She suddenly did not want to become so trapped by her past that she could no longer live for her future.

It was Tristran who broke the silence. "Is there anything I can do, Anaria, to help you?"

Anaria turned her eyes upon Tristran. "Show me," she asked, softly, "Show me what it can be like."

Tristran just stared at her, unsure what he was supposed to think. He did want her, wanted to love her completely and totally, but he also knew that he would never forgive himself if he ever did anything that even remotely reminded her of Mark. "Anaria, you don't have to-"

"I know that, Tristran. But, I do." Anaria answered, "I have run long enough. I do not want to let the memories of the past destroy the future that we have together." She smiled slightly, "Besides, if I hadn't been sure, I would not have let you get this close."

It was as though the years were turned back. Eight years before, neither of them knew who made that first move, they had just found their lips meeting and their arms finding each other, and that's what happened now. Neither one knew who made the first move to embrace each other, but, it didn't really matter.

That first kiss was unlike anything Anaria had ever experienced before. It was driven by something beyond just love. It was love and longing, passion and desire. It was in the first blazing moment of feeling Tristran's lips pressing on her own and feeling his hands reaching up to caress her cheeks that she understood for the first time, what this part of love was truly meant to be. The way Tristran loved her now was pure, unadulterated love, not tainted by the foul taste of lust and corruption. His touch asked, not ordered; his lips shared part of himself, not stealing from her body for his own twisted pleasure. He wasn't leaving her cold or barren, but only made the fire of love grow hotter. She didn't feel herself wanting to hold back either, but rather wanting to give just as much as he was to her.

Tristran pressed his tongue against Anaria's lips, asking permission to go deeper than he would have dared without her assent. Anaria hesitated only a moment before she opened her mouth, and allowed him even deeper access into her body. Tristran could feel her slowly coming closer to him, allowing herself closer than she had dared for a long time to do. He could barely conceal his joy, how much he wanted her to be free and how much he would have sacrificed to make her so. Eight years ago, their positions had been reversed. He remembered that he had been a wanderer, lost in the wilderness of his own isolation, starving for love without really knowing it. He had been so haunted by his past that he had shut himself off from the world, to prevent himself from feeling so he would be spared from that pain. All the while, he hadn't realized that the daring to love wasn't the weakness; it was the strength. To deny that truth, meant rejecting what it meant to be human. She had helped to let his pain go and feel once more. She had saved him from a fate worse than death, and now he had the chance to help her in the much same way that she had helped him seemingly an eternity ago.

Tristran's mouth moved from her lips to press into her neck. Anaria felt that a hot fire was raging through her veins, and as she felt Tristran's mouth working upon her skin, a groan escaped her lips. For the first time in so many years, Anaria felt a strange kind of freedom, a feeling with her that was intoxicating and frightening all at the same time.

Tristran gently pulled the sleeve of Anaria's dress off her shoulder, and explored her bare skin with his mouth. At the same time, he began to push her back on the bed. Anaria heard another groan escape her throat. Her fingers worked her way up his chest to tangle themselves in his hair. Tristran mouth found hers once more and kissed her even more passionately than before.

A loud knock at Tristran's door somewhat spoiled the moment for both of them. A loud and urgent voice followed the sound, "Tristran?"

Anaria heard Tristran's low growl of frustration. "Jols, what is it?" he barked out, then she heard him mutter, "For your sake it had better be good."

"You're needed at the wall top, sir, both you and Anaria. There's something you both should see."

Tristran looked at Anaria and they both somehow knew that their personal passions would have to wait. Something was happening that was bigger than them both.

They made their way swiftly down the fortress walls to the courtyard beyond. The crowd that had before been gay and merry was now anxious and jittery; the atmosphere was like what one feels like before a storm.

Anaria and Tristran pushed through them, ignoring the questions which seemed to come at them from all directions, partly because stopping to talk would just take up more time, and because they didn't know the answers to half those questions themselves. Though in their hearts, they already suspected what it was.

They mounted the stairs to the battlements quickly. The rest of the knights were already there, all of them wearing grim expressions on their faces. Anaria looked at them, then out to the plains beyond Badon Hill and her heart sank. Beyond the walls protective perimeter, dozens and dozens of campfires lit up the night, making the field smoldering with a hellish, fiery glow. It was clearly a show of force, each of those fires had at least five or six Saxons around them, all trained to fight and kill. On this side of the wall, there were precious few villagers who had only their wits and wiles to help them survive. None had been trained in battle and none had ever seen the ravages or the horror of war. At this moment, any hope seemed lost.

A commotion on the steps below cause Anaria to turn her eyes from the sight of the fires below. Arthur and her cousin rushed up the steps as she and Tristran had done moments before. Guinevere's dress was askew as though she had put it on in a great hurry. Anaria did not have to guess why that was so.

Arthur and Lancelot exchanged a look, and Arthur looked over the wall at the fires of the Saxons beyond on the plains. He seemed to be in the midst of making an important, but agonizing decision. His eyes moved from the fires to every one of the knights, then he looked at the faces of the people of the town. They were defenseless, and they would surely die if he didn't stay. They had looked to him for protection for fifteen years, and now they were looking to him once more. But, it was ultimately not the faces of those men, women, and children that influenced Arthur's decision. What made his made mind up was when he looked back at Guinevere and Lancelot, the two people dearest to him in his life. One he had known for fifteen years. He had fought with him and nearly died with him on many occasions. There was a part of Arthur that wished he could leave behind his responsibilities and follow him. But, then he saw Guinevere, her black hair flying about her waist and her eyes, those beautiful eyes, silently pleading him to help her people, his people, their people. Arthur finally knew that this was where God had meant him to be all along.

"Knights," he said, slowly, looking at each of them in turn, "my journey with you must end here. May God go with you."

With that, he walked away. Lancelot looked at Guinevere and something like accusation passed over his face, then he hurried down the stairs following Arthur. Guinevere followed hard after, and Anaria was close behind. "Arthur, this is not Rome's fight." Anaria could Lancelot saying, "This is not _your _fight. All these long years, we've been together, the trials we've faced, the blood we've shed, what was it all for, if not for the reward of freedom? And now when we are so close, when it's finally within our grasp-look at me!" He shouted, as he turned Arthur around and forced his friend to look at him, "Does it all count for nothing."

Arthur looked closely at Lancelot, "You ask me that?" he asked him, "You who know me best of all?"

They both knew the answer to that question. Arthur began to walk away, but Lancelot couldn't just leave it at that. He stopped Arthur once more, his voice hoarse with emotion and pleading, "Than do not do this. Only certain death awaits you here. Arthur, I beg you, for our friendship's sake I beg you-"

Arthur cut him off sternly, "Be my friend now, and do not dissuade me. Seize the freedom you have earned and live it for the both of us. I cannot follow you, Lancelot. I now know that all the blood I have shed, all the lives I have taken have led me to this moment."

Lancelot saw there was nothing that could be done to stop Arthur. Tears were in his eyes as Arthur cupped Lancelot's face with his hand, before finally walking away. Lancelot's hand latched unto his arm, but it slipped from his grasp. Arthur disappeared into the crowd, Lancelot looking after him, a look of heartbreak in his eyes. His eyes moved to the sky and his breath made fog in the cold air. Anaria could not help but feel sorry for him. He and Arthur had fought with each other since the beginning, and now Arthur was going to a place that he was sure would bring only death. However, when his eyes fell upon Guinevere who was standing in front of Anaria, his heartbreak turned suddenly to anger. He stormed over to Guinevere, taking her by surprise. "Well, are you happy now?" he asked, his voice trembling with rage.

Guinevere stared at him in momentary confusion, "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" roared Lancelot, "You show up at exactly the right moment to convince Arthur to fight for your people, and now your condemning him to death. I cannot see why I ever thought you were beautiful."

"Lancelot, I didn't plan on this, and I didn't influence Arthur's decision, at least not in the way that you are implying."

"You will forgive me if I don't believe a word you are saying." said Lancelot, coldly, "You couldn't miss this chance, could you? Just asking him to stay wasn't enough; you had to tempt him with your body to make him stay for certain. You had no right! You know as well as I do that this isn't his fight!"

"Arthur's fight is with whomever he chooses to fight for." said Guinevere, standing strong against Lancelot, "This was where he chose. He could have gone with you had he chosen, but he has made his choice. You have to accept that if you truly respect him."

That was all Lancelot could take, "Don't preach to me what I should and shouldn't do!" shouted Lancelot, "You've only known him a short time. I have known him for the past fifteen years. And I love him enough to keep him out of paths that will only end in death. But, not you; oh no, not you, you had to influence his decision and once you get what you want, you don't care whether he will live or die. You're nothing but a common strumpet!"

That was too much for Anaria. Protectively, she stepped in front of Guinevere and faced Lancelot coldly, "Lancelot, if you ever talk to my cousin like that again, I will cut off your tongue and make you eat it."

Lancelot stared at Anaria and she continued, "You can't say that you didn't suspect that Arthur would stay. This is where he belongs. Here he can make a difference and live a life of consequence. He cannot do that anywhere else."

"You, too?" said Lancelot, with disbelief, "You're taking her part? I thought that you would understand. Arthur will die if he stays here. So will Tristran if he stays, did you convince him to stay that same way your kinswoman did?"

"You honestly think that, Lancelot? That I would use the man I loved to such selfish purposes? If you think that than you must be blinder than I ever gave you credit for. I would hate to believe that I have misjudged you all these years."

Lancelot could only fume at her for a few moments before finally giving up and walking away through the crowd and disappearing into the darkness. Anaria watched, sad to see him leave so full of anger. She couldn't blame him for feeling as he did, even if what he had said to her and Guinevere was wrong. She might have jumped to the same conclusions had she been in his place.

"Thank you, Anaria," said Guinevere, from behind her, "for standing up for me."

"Your welcome, Guinevere." she said, "I only wish that it didn't have to be to a man I respected as a brother and friend for a long time. He was wrong about you. I know that you want what is best for this country, but I don't think that you could stoop so low as to use your body to convince him."

"Arthur is a man that cannot be moved like that." agreed Guinevere, "He wouldn't have been moved had I approached him like that. He made the decision on his own."

"But, there is no denying they you were a part of his decision, Guinevere. If part of why he is staying is because he loves you, than you may have done something unconsciously to make him stay after all."

Guinevere smiled slightly, but than she sobered and said in a soft voice, "Anaria, I fear that I must say will cause you pain. We have to leave."

Anaria looked at her and said, "What do you mean?"

"My father has arrived. He has summoned the Woad tribes from all over the north. He has requested our presence. You understand that we have to join them. Many of them don't know I am alive. They will need both of us to be there."

"I know, Guinevere." said Anaria, after a moment, "I understand why we must go, but at the same time I wish we didn't."

A movement in the crowd behind Guinevere drew Anaria's attention away from her cousin's face. Guinevere turned to see what her cousin was staring at. Tristran had just descended the stairs, and was looking at the two women, or rather, Anaria with all the heat of a smoldering fire. Needs and desires were passing between them without a word being said. Guinevere knew the power of what her cousin was feeling. She had felt the same thing with Arthur earlier that day. But, she hoped that Anaria understood that there was a time to give into those desires, and this wasn't that time, "Anaria, not now. This isn't the time to let personal feelings get in the way of a bigger duty."

Anaria, when she heard those words, couldn't help but smile sadly. "You find that amusing?" asked Guinevere.

"No," said Anaria, turning to regard Guinevere, "I find it familiar." Very familiar. It was nearly the exact same thing she had said eight years ago, when she had been forced to make the choice between duty and desire. "Let me say good-bye to him, Guinevere, I owe him that at least."

Guinevere nodded, "It would speak ill of my affection for you if I denied that request. But, quickly, Anaria; dawn will arrive soon, and father will want to talk to us about the battle plan."

Anaria nodded and turned back to thread her way through the crowd to where Tristran was standing. He was watching her with mixed emotions, she seemed strangely urgent and unsure, though what it would be about he didn't know. He met her halfway and spoke to her, "Anaria what is it?"

Anaria glanced around at the stares they were receiving from the people who were milling about the stairs. Much as she didn't care what they thought, she felt that it was best to have this conversation with Tristran in private. "Not here, Tristran, this way."

She drew him into the deeper shadows of the fortress walls. "Tristran I can't stay."

Tristran stared at her. Whatever he had expected her to say, it hadn't been this, "What do you mean?"

"Guinevere just told me that we need to join the Woads. They arrived here earlier this evening. She thinks it best if we were to join than before the battle tomorrow."

"Do you agree with her words?" asked Tristran, but he knew the answer to that question already.

"Yes." said Anaria, sadly, "I wish it weren't so. I don't want anything more than to stay here with you, Tristran. But, my place must be with me people tonight. I am Merlin's niece, second only to Guinevere. If I'm not there tonight, I won't be able to fight as well tomorrow in the battle."

She half-feared Tristran's reaction, because when she had once before put him in a similar situation, he had reacted with anger, almost accusing her of betraying him. To her surprise, he merely smiled and stroked her cheek, "Still thinking about the bigger picture, even after all this time?"

"That's one part of me that hasn't changed." said Anaria, "At least we know that this time, we won't be separated forever. I thought that you would be angry with me for once more putting duty before my love for you."

"I have changed where you have stayed the same. I meant when I said in the forest. My home is here now and there is no place I would rather be. I know, for the first time in the life, what it truly means to fight for something that will make a difference. Tomorrow, I am fighting for this land, Anaria; something that I feel will finally be worth protecting."

"How did you come to that conclusion?" asked Anaria, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. She had put her faith in his promise and while she knew he would keep it, she hadn't thought that Tristran would want to stay for any love of Britain, a land that had given him so much pain. She hadn't thought that he could consider it home in the same way she did.

"One day, I'll tell you." he said, "But, now isn't the time for it. We both have our duties, and we must attend to them." His eyes grew slightly sad and his normally gruff voice became unusually tender, "I only wish that we could have finished what we started. I feel like I haven't done enough for you, like I haven't done anything to help you."

"Tristran, you have done more for me in this night than anyone else could have done in a lifetime. Because of the love you showed me, I am able to let go of what I have been afraid of for so long. There is nothing more that you need to do to earn my love, you never needed to earn it in the first place."

Tristran looked deeply into her eyes, and he did see something, something that was different; he saw that the haunted look in her eyes, the look of repressed memories and the desire to run from them was gone, replaced with a look of utter peace. The sight gave him more joy than anything could have. He nodded, a small smile played upon his lips, "I love you." he whispered, softly.

Anaria leaned her forward against his, not caring anymore if there were people looking, "I love you, too."

Tristran lowered his lips to hers and the two shared a kiss which was more heartfelt and passionate than any kiss they had shared in his room what seemed like ages ago. It was a kiss that signified all their deepest feelings, which no amount of words could even come close to describing. It is sometimes said that goodbyes are meant to be sad and heartbreaking occasions. But any who had seen Tristran and Anaria's parting would have been almost convinced of the contrary. Their goodbye was sad in a way, for they were parting, but it was also hopeful in the prospect that they would meet again, and grateful that in the midst of despair and seeming hopelessness, they had each other to turn to for comfort and support. In each other, they had found the love that would never die and would carry them through whatever the future held.

Such moments, precious and timeless as they may be, are still only moments, and all must come to an end. That unfortunately was true in this instance. Anaria finally brought herself back to the present and after another long look into Tristran's eyes, she said softly, "Good-bye, Tristran."

She walked through the crowd, back toward her cousin who had been waiting patiently for Anaria to join her. Anaria cast one more glance back at Tristran, as though to send him one last good-bye and look on the man she loved for as long as she could, before she joined Guinevere and the two of them made their way through the people, to the forest, where the Woads were waiting for them.

Tristran watched Anaria until she vanished into the crowd. Though he had said such words of reassurance to Anaria, he still couldn't quell the pain that came when he saw her walking away, for he didn't know if it would be his last sight of her before the battle tomorrow. A part of him almost wished that she could still be here beside him, but, he understood that something bigger than themselves was happening, and that had to take precedence, even over their love.

It was strange how he felt as he now looked at the serfs around him. A month ago, the sight of the milling frightened serfs wouldn't have affected him at all. Now, in their frightened faces, he saw a hint of what it was he could be fighting for: this land, this people, which he had served for Rome nearly half of his life, could be his new purpose. He had never before thought that his presence could make any difference in the long run, and indeed, had it not been for an event a few hours ago; he might still have thought that.

The news that the Woads were in the vicinity of the Wall, he had already been aware of it. A few hours ago, he had encountered Merlin in the forest outside of Camalann. Their time together had been of little time, and their words had been few, but it had been enough for Tristran to realize what had been growing in his mind ever since he had come back together with Anaria. He had meant what he had told her on the journey back to the Wall, but he had not believed that he could ever make a difference.  
_  
_It had taken that short meeting in the woods with Merlin to open his eyes to the all that he could be. Now, as he looked around at the frightened but determined faces of the villagers and Britains around him, he had to admit that Merlin was right. He could make a difference, he finally a cause to fight for.

He wandered through the crowd, making his way to the barracks. He tried to meet the concerned faces of the villagers with reassurance, at least as close he could come. It felt strange to try and offer encouragement, when he was so used to inspiring fear and mistrust. He didn't think that he had helped many people, but had he been able you see into the hearts of men, he would have seen something quite different. For even if just Arthur had stayed, the people of Badon Hill would have been sure that victory was within reach, but the fact that one of Arthur's knights had chosen to sty, even Tristran, that chance seemed now doubled. So it was that the Saxons came to Badon Hill, and the people of the fortress prepared for war.

Tristran walked the halls of the barracks, his mind dwelling upon everything that had happened to him in the last few weeks. From finding Anaria again, to now, seemingly a lifetime later; he considered the encounter he had with Merlin in the woods that night, which had affected him more than he thought it would and made him think deeply upon the place he was to occupy in this turning point in history. His feet eventually found the way to the fortress' Great Hall, where the Round Table stood in solemn majesty, a haven of peace after the bustle and chaos outside.

Tristran looked at the table, a combination of the workmanship of both Rome and Britain, inlaid with strange, twisting designs and patterns that could almost move and attain life if looked at long and hard enough. He could remember the first time that he had ever set foot in this chamber and the first time he had seen the round table itself. Arthur had been no more than boy at the time, hardly older than some of the boys he was chosen to command himself. He had been frightened, like them; alone and homeless, like them; similarities which gave them a connection to him, but he still stood proud and tall, which singled him out as a born leader. He had said that the table represented the fact that all who followed him were equal, and that not any one of them would be given precedence over another. That had told Tristran, as well as the other boys that Arthur would be different than all the other Roman commanders they had served (and suffered) under. And he had been right. Arthur set no hierarchy, had made it plain from the beginning that the table symbolized a brotherhood of men, not a machine with men for its parts. However, despite that declaration, there was never any doubt that the real leader of the knights always was.

From that time on, the knights looked to Arthur for their leadership, and though the orders that Rome gave through Arthur were met sometimes with skeptiscm and annoyance, Arthur himself was never questioned. They had followed him with unfailing loyalty and would have followed him to hell and back.

But even that bond of brotherhood wasn't strong enough to remain together. The knights would be leaving in the morning, back to freedom and their homes in Sarmatia. Tristran couldn't blame them; it was their right after all. If he hadn't found Anaria once more, he would have been leaving with them. So, he couldn't ask them to stay, but some part of him still wished they had. Even with him, Arthur, and Dagonet staying to fight the Saxons, Tristran knew they the chances of winning were not as good as if there had been seven knights for the Saxons to contend with. But, they would have to get by with what they had, and Tristran was sure that they could.

He walked the length of the table before finally coming to the chair that he had been looking for. It was the seat beside his own, that had been filled but a year ago by a knight who had been one of Arthur's loyal knights and a skilled and deadly fighter, the man who had been closer to Tristran than any other: the seat that Sagramore had occupied until his death. Tristran sat down and just sat still in the silence of the room, remembering all the times he had fought alongside his brother and all that he owed him, not the least of which was his life. He had supported Tristran through the hard years of Roman training, taking many punishments for his sake and giving Tristran his food when he was ill. He had never understood why Sagramore risked so much for him, but now he did. "Well, Sagramore," he said softly, to the spirit of his brother, "you always said I was meant for something bigger than I could imagine. You were right. No matter how much I hate to admit it, you were right. Guide my hand and my sword tomorrow. I am ready."

* * *

The quiet of the moment was broken when the doors to the Great Hall were thrown and Arthur walked in. He looked haggard and tired, but determined and imbued with a sense of purpose that Tristran had never seen him wear. It seemed that Arthur was going through the same transition that Tristran was experiencing, of viewing them and less as a burden to defend, but an opportunity to make a difference.

He stopped short when he saw Tristran, who was regarding him with a look that he couldn't quite name. He may not have been able to name it, but it was different than any other look that the scout had ever given him, "Tristran, what are you doing here?"

"Just remembering." was Tristran's short, though accurate reply.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready to leave? The rest of the knights will be leaving in the morning, and-"

"I'm going, Arthur." said Tristran, as he rose to his feet.

Arthur turned to stare at Tristran, and realization began to dawn. "You're staying?" Tristran nodded, "Because of Anaria?"

"Anaria is a big part of my reason for staying. She has given me back my life and I owe it to her to not let anything else separate us again." Tristran paused for a moment, unsure of how to put what he was going to say next into words, but knowing that he had to say it nonetheless. "But, there is another reason that I'm staying."

"And what would that be?"

"I want to make a difference." he said, "I have lived to long for myself. Now I see that I can fight for something that means something more, rather than just being told what to do and who to fight. Fighting for Rome, I never felt that what I was doing could make any difference. Fighting under you, I think I will."

"Tristran, are you saying that you want to fight for me?"

Tristran let the silence elapse for a few seconds as he pondered Arthur's question. He could see that this was a cause that he could fight for proudly, and that Arthur was the one man he would call king, if he had ever been asked to call a man one before. "Yes, Arthur. I want to fight for you, for this land and for the people who live here. I know that if we win tomorrow, a new life for this island will begin, and I want to be a part of that. It is the right thing to do."

Arthur stared at his scout. He had had never seen his scout speak so, nor could he remember that Tristran's eyes had ever looked so full of purpose and resolve. "You really believe that, Tristran." Tristran nodded, and despite the seriousness of the challenge that was facing him, Arthur actually smiled. "Then, Tristran, if that is your desire, than I shall not attempt to dissuade you. I do have some plans for the battle tomorrow, but with you and Dagonet staying, I should like you input to see if they can at all be improved on. We had better begin if we hope to get any sleep tonight."

Tristran nodded and followed Arthur. Two men fighting for the same thing, and for the first time in fifteen years, fighting for a real cause.

************  
Fog enveloped the forest that lay a mile from the fortress of Badon hill. The cold wind blew through the trees, creating a haunting dirge that would have chilled some people to the bone. However, there were those in the forest that night who were unaware of the frightening sound of the wind. Quite the contrary, they regarded it more as a sound of welcome and good fortune for the morrow. The wind sang the song of courage, hope, and peace. But it also brought other sounds with it, and deep within the trees, two people heard the faint snapping of twigs and brush underfoot and the telltale mummer of voices. The sound of someone, perhaps more than one person was coming through the woods was being carried clearly on the night wind. While the faint sounds were faint enough for ordinary people to miss, the two Woad guards had never been what one would have called ordinary.

One of the Woads, a dark haired man of about thirty years old, motioned to his companion to keep silent and circle around to the back. The Woad, brown haired and only about eighteen years of age nodded and slipped silently off in the direction of his fellow Woad had indicated.

The sounds of someone approaching through the forest increased, coming closer and closer to the two guards, who stood still as statues, silent and undetectable, or so they thought.

Suddenly, as though both Woads were on a timed spring, they leapt forward at the exact same time, brandishing their spears before them threateningly at the intruders. "Stop there or die." snarled the older one.

They were surprised, nay, shocked, when a familiar voice came from one of the shadowy figures in front of them, "Harold, I knew you would be the first friend we would meet."

"And who else have we to greet us?" came another voice, this one also quite familiar, "Ah, young Arrian, following you around like always."

The Woad guards looked closer at their prisoners, suspicion still evident upon their features. That suspicion soon dissolved, however, replaced with wide smiles and surprised laughter, "Guinevere, Anaria." said Harold, the older one, "The gods be praised."

"We were certain you were dead." said Arrian gratefully embracing each of the women. "And when Anaria failed to return, we despaired of seeing either one of you again."

"You were afraid we'd be killed?" said Anaria, with a raised eyebrow, "It seems like we'll have to prove our skills a little better to those who doubt, Guinevere."

"Yes, Anaria, we must." said Guinevere in mock gravity," Or we must teach those who doubt their leaders to believe in them a little more seriously."

Both Harold and Anaria laughed, as they began walking through the woods. "You thought I was dead you say. And, may I ask, just who do you think could possibly kill me?"

"Not I, that's certain.' said Harold, "I would probably be killed by Merlin for doing so, even if it happened to be an accident."

"Before Merlin did anything to you, you would have to deal with me." said Anaria, poking Harold playfully in the ribs, "By the time I got through with you, you would be relieved to have Merlin end your life."

The four friends shared a good-natured laugh, than Guinevere said to Arrian, "Is my father here?"

"Yes. You didn't expect him to miss such a battle as this did you. He will be so happy to see you. I am sure that he gave you up for dead long ago."

Guinevere and Anaria looked at each other and shared a secret smile, "No," said Guinevere strangely, "I do not think he did."

The two Woad guard escorted Anaria and Guinevere through the forest, following a narrow path that would have otherwise been undetectable, but to the Woads, all it took was a little fancy stepping, and it soon widened into a large clearing that was the Woad camp for that night, and consequently, their final destination.

People who would have expected to find the Woads, on the eve of an important battle such as this, dancing insanely around a large bonfire naked or eating the raw flesh of animals to absorb their strength and give them greater prowess in battle, would have been sorely disappointed. The Woads were preparing for battle, true, but in a much more efficient and quiet way. Dozens of Woads, families and warriors were gathered around a bonfire, but this was more for heat and light than any pagan ritual. Some were preparing the evening meal, as many had just arrived, upon their leader Merlin's orders. Others were busy applying battle paint and camouflage to their bodies. The gentle hum of conversation mingled with the crackling blaze of the fire made the place seem quite welcoming, even perhaps to enemy eyes. This was the side of Woads that people rarely saw, the sight that proved they were just as human as any other and not just the blue devils that seemed to be able to disappear into the forest at will.

Arrian and Harold stopped into the stepped into the bright circle, Anaria and Guinevere between them. "We have caught two dangerous warriors," announced Harold, in a loud voice, "and we have taken them prisoners."

Several of the Woads, both young and old, looked up from what they had been doing, clearly surprised at this unexpected announcement, but when they recognized Guinevere, many of them rushed forward and embraced gratefully. Anaria stepped back from this, allowing the Woads to welcome Guinevere.

Just than, a voice boomed out from the shadows surrounding the bonfire, breaking up the group of people that were clustered around Guinevere, "It took but two of you to capture these women? They must have been asleep, or else they are not the warriors that they once were."

Guinevere broke from the groups and rushed over to the large and imposing Woad that was standing to one side of the fire. There was no mistaking that he was the leader of every Woad present. But, before the eyes of the Woads, Merlin changed from the intelligent, resourceful leader they knew him to be into a loving, doting father.

Father and daughter hugged for several moments, "Welcome back, my darling daughter." He looked up and acknowledged Anaria, who came forward to for a quick hug. Merlin gave her a squeeze and gave her a smile that was as warm as the one that he had given to Guinevere, "And a sincere welcome to you Anaria, as dear to me as a daughter ever could be." His eyes than turned to the crowd and he proclaimed in a loud voice, "Soon we must fight. But right now, let us celebrate the return of our two most beloved warriors. "

A woman from the crowd ran forward and placed a bowl of pheasant stew and some bread in the hands of the two women.

"Thank you," said Guinevere, accepting the food with a grateful smile, "you cannot know how much I have longed for the hospitality of my people."

"Come, Guinevere, Anaria, there are many things that we must discuss. The rest of you," he said turning to the Woads, "very soon, your assignments in battle will be given to you. Eat, rest and be assured. The return of Guinevere and Anaria shows that fate fights on our side tomorrow."

The assembled Woads cheered, than went once more began to prepare themselves for what was coming with the first light of dawn. Despite what Merlin had told them, for many, it would be many hours before rest would come.

Merlin led Guinevere and Anaria away from the rest of the Woads to a fallen tree, where they could talk in peace. As the two of them ate, Merlin, who saw more in human nature in two minutes that many people wouldn't be able to perceive after hours of searching, could plainly see that the short time from Guinevere and Anaria had been gone had changed them, and mostly for the good.. However, some of those changes were very painful for him to see. As he watched Guinevere eat, he saw the cuts and bruises on her skin and fingers, which were still swollen from their dislocation. She had clearly endured suffering that would have left most people dead.

His face creased with anguish, as though he were sharing a part of her pain. "We didn't know where you were." he said, speaking both of himself and Anaria, both of whom had been the most worried by her absence, "If we had, I would have come for you, even if it had cost my life and the lives of every one of our people. That is why I sent Anaria out to find you as soon as any news of you was known."

"I wouldn't have given up. Even if I had had to search every inch of Britain." said Anaria, fervently grasping her cousin's hand.

Guinevere nodded gravely, "I know that you would have, both of you."

"But, fate must have had something else planned for you, something that didn't include being found by one of us. That is why Arthur was led to the place of your imprisonment. And the fact that he saved you and didn't kill you on the instant because of your Woad ancestry shows him to be a man of much goodness and honor."

"Yes." Agreed Guinevere, staring off into the distance, far out to where Arthur was, preparing for the battle, remembering all that had passed between them in such a short time. First, they had been suspicious of each other, but they had slowly come to trust each other, and before either of them had known it, they had fallen in love with each other.

"Your two destinies are inexorably linked together, Guinevere." said Merlin, as though reading her thoughts, "You will both bring peace to this nation that has so long been torn apart by war and mistrust amidst its peoples."

Guinevere stared at her father, surprise written on her features, "But, how can you know?"

Merlin smiled. "I have suspected from the start that there was attraction between the two of you. I knew that Arthur felt something for you, why else would he have followed you to the place where we meant for the first time in the mountains?"

Guinevere looked down, not out of shame, but out of embarrassment. Her father always seemed to know what she wanted. Once more she wondered, as she had wondered often in her life, if she would ever be able to keep any secret from him. But, she was proud that her father approved of Arthur so, and that he would approve of their being joined.

Merlin that turned his penetrating gaze upon Anaria, who had been sitting by, respectfully silent through all the conversation. He smiled at her gently. "And you, Anaria? You have been changed by your time with Arthur as well."

Now it was Anaria's turn to be surprised at how quickly Merlin was able to perceive the thoughts of those close to him. "How did you know?"

Merlin chuckled. "Ever since you joined us eight years ago, it has been as rare as the moon rising instead of the sun that I have seen you truly smile. Now there is something different in you eyes that glow, as though you have finally released the beast of your fear and anger. There is something inside you besides what has haunted you for so long."

Anaria looked away into the forest, unsure of how to tell her uncle the extraordinary thing that had happened to her in the space of a few weeks. "Something has certainly changed within me, Merlin. I have finally been able to let go, and now I am freer than I ever thought was possible. But, it's hard for explain exactly what that something is."

"You needn't try. I already know. Perhaps it is a certain knight of Arthur's that has found his way back into your life at last."

Anaria's eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. She was completely surprised that Merlin could ever suspect what she was carrying. "But, how did you... How could you...?"

"Quite simply, he told me himself."

"You've spoken with him?"

"yes, earlier in the evening, just before sunset. We happened upon each other in the woods, or to be perfectly truthful, I followed him a little before finally making my presence known."

Here, Anaria had to laugh. If any man would ever be able to take Tristran by surprise, that person would have to be Merlin. "What did he say?"

"I think that he was surprised, to say the least. But, he seemed to take it all in stride. Our meeting was not long, but it was long enough for me to know that he's a good man and he deserves you."

"No, Merlin, no. I deserve him

Merlin smile and nodded, knowing that it was useless to argue on this point. Seeing they were both finished, he changed this subject to the matters at hand. "I wish we had time to exchange stories, but our reunion hasn't come at the best of times. I can only assure you with the sincerest heart that I wish you both the greatest happiness. But come, we must go into battle tomorrow, and we must discuss with the council upon the best course of action we should take. Come, the hour grows late and they are already assembling.

So, Anaria and Guinevere followed the Woad leader to where the council was coming together. For the night, they had to put aside the memories of the past few weeks, all the changes both good and bad which they experienced, and prepare themselves for good or ill or whatever happened when tomorrow came.

Time was passing swiftly for all this night and soon, very soon, a battle would be joined that would determine the fate of a nation. What would happen when the moon of the night surrendered to the sun of the day, no one could tell for certain, but one thing was certain: tomorrow, battle would be joined.

* * *

Hope everyone enjoyed this. As always, read and review.

Next chapter: This is it. The final episode, the ultimate finale, everything that has happened has led to this one moment in time. The natives of Britain will fight for their freedom against the invading Saxons and Tristran and Anaria will realize their destinies. WARNING: Be ready for a surprising, but ultimately happy ending.


	27. For Always

Well, can you believe it? This story is actually almost finished. GASP! I am so excited I can barely contain myself. Now, I should warn everyone that this ending might come as a surprise to some of you, but please try and suspend your judgement until this story is fully finished.

Side note: The song that was the inspiration for this chapter is called "For Always" which is from the film AI (Artificial Intelligence). It was composed by the brilliant John Williams, written Cynthia Weil and sung by the gorgeous voiced Josh Groban.

Everyone Enjoy!

For Always:  
_**"I close my eyes  
And there in the shadows  
I see you're light.  
You come to me out of my dreams  
Across the night."**_

Dawn broke cool and clear over the eastern horizon, spraying the undersides of the clouds with a combination of red, orange and purple. The blue sky over the field of Badon Hill would have been beautiful if anyone had bothered to stop and admire it. But, there was too much to be done. Preparations had begun almost before sunrise for the battle that was to be fought, and Arthur was intent that everything should be ready before it began. Very few had gotten any real rest that night, either from excitement or fear of what lay ahead.

Tristran spent a restless night on his own in the fortress walls. After he had been able to return to his room to get a little sleep, he had spent the night tossing and turning, sleep evading him. His thoughts were all dwelling upon Anaria and the experiences that they had shared, from the first sight to the last time he seen her. He kept seeing her smile, hearing her laugh and feeling her as he had felt her the night before, so vibrant and alive that it made him shiver just to remember it.

But more than this, he found that he couldn't stop himself from the one gnawing thought that kept niggling in the back of his mind. He had to see her again; there was something in him that would surely go mad if he didn't see her one last time before the battle was joined. He felt like there was so much that he had to say, so much that he had to hear her say, and that he wouldn't be able to stay away.

Finally, with dawn breaking out across the Eastern sky, and having been able to get anymore than an hour's rest, Tristran rose from his cot and headed out in the streets of the fortress. And it was there, at the main gates of the fort, that he saw her. She was with Guinevere, who was seemed to be in one final consultation with Arthur (possibly their talk was also of a more personal nature as well).

When Anaria saw Tristran, she immediately rushed from her cousin's side and hurried into Tristran's arms. "Tristran," she murmured, happily, "I am so glad too see you. I wasn't sure if I would get the chance."

"I am glad to see you as well. There has been an ache in my heart that kept me up all night. I don't think I would have been completely at peace until I saw you again."

"There was that same desire in me. I had to distract myself from them, because they would have distracted me. When Guinevere said she was coming here, I leaped at the opportunity, though I didn't know what chance I had of seeing you, or what I would say if I did."

A rare smile lighted on Tristran's face. "I think I am having the same problem. Strange that we still keep finding things in common after all this time. I thought of so many things that I wanted to say to you over the night. Now that you are here, I seem to have forgotten all of them. But, the most important one is really the only one that matters. I love you. You know that already, but I felt I couldn't run the risk of going in this battle if I didn't say that at least once more."

"I never get tired of hearing you say it." Said Anaria, "Just as I hope that you will not be tired of me saying I love you, as well. Can you not feel it, Tristran? Something is on the horizon; something is coming that will change our entire lives together, though whether it will be for good or ill I cannot say."

"Come what may, for either of us. I know what it means to fight for something now, and that's just what I plan on doing.

"You don't have any regrets about staying?"

"None." said Tristran with fervor, "What we are fighting for, freedom, hope, the life we will live tomorrow. I never knew that those things could mean so much. But now I feel like I could die for them, if necessary, so that others could enjoy it."

"That is the only thing I really fear." Said Anaria, "If we do pass on from this world? Or even worse, what it you go first, and I stay behind to face this world without you?"

"Then wherever I end up, I'll wait." said Tristran, stroking her face, "And you must promise me that is that does happen, you won't go looking for death yourself, but live out your days in this life to their full number. I almost made the biggest mistake of my life by trying to kill myself when I thought you were gone, I don't want you to make that same mistake."

"You have my word, and you know that my word is as good as your own. But, how will I be able to live, knowing that you're not here?"

"I will not truly leave this world until you leave it as well, for no place could be heaven for me, unless you were by my side."

"Do you promise that, Tristran?" asked Anaria, for even though she knew he meant it, she had to hear him say it.

"Yes, I promise you. If I ever loved you half as well as I do now, you may be sure of its truth."

"Than I make the same promise to you." she said, "I love you Tristran."

"And I love you, Anaria."

They kissed each other, deeply and desperately to try and make it last as long as possible. But the present conditions made that time all to short. Tristran was soon forced to break away, with great reluctance and looked deeply into Anaria's eyes.

"Goodbye, Anaria." said Tristran, tenderly, hoping fervently it was not for the last time.

"Goodbye, Tristran." said Anaria.

So it was that the two went their separate ways, and prepared themselves for battle, but both their destinations would ultimately be the same: Badon Hill, where war was soon to be joined.

* * *

_**"You take my hand  
**__**Though you may be so many stars away  
I know that our spirits and souls are one  
We've circled the moon  
And we've touched the sun  
So here, we'll stay."**_The sun had settled into its place in the sky, hanging in a curtain of mid-winter blue, but the scene on which the sun looked down was anything but peaceful. The sun looked down this day upon the open green field of Badon Hill, scattered all over with haystacks, doused with black pitch and oil, so that only a spark was needed to start them smoldering. Many of them had already been lit by the villagers who had been deemed fit to fight in the battle today. Even with the addition of the Woads, the numbers of Arthur's army were still far too few to face the Saxons with any clear hope of victory. He needed whatever hand he could find.

The smoke from the bales rose into the winter sky, all but obscuring the bright blue with dull black. The weather should have been cool, instead, it was warm because of the rising heat from the fires, and breathing for those lighting the last of the hay bales was becoming more and more difficult. Arthur's plan, however, didn't have anything to do with suffocating the enemy; the smoke was a blind to hide those who were attacking and a diversion to distract the Saxons from knowing where the true attack was coming.

Through all this smoke and preparation rode the last of the Roman soldiers stationed in Britain, as well as Alecto, Fulcina and Bishop Germanus. The Bishop looked out the window of his carriage with a look of disgust and contempt. He thought that it was foolish to fight an enemy that God had already decided would win. Inevitable and irrevocable was that prediction, and it was folly to try and change God's will. He was relieved to be leaving this foolishness behind, as well this uncivilized and godless country, and return to the luxuries and pleasures of Rome. Alecto and Fulcina looked out their window, quite different thoughts on their minds as they passed these scenes. Alecto had been forever changed by his encounter with Arthur Castus. The way he had pursued mercy and equality with such passionate conviction was making him question his own beliefs. He had never been comfortable with his father's way of pursuing the Christian religion, but he had had never had any other example of what kind of life to lead. But Arthur's actions, as well as this current decision to stay and fight for these people, was influencing Alecto more than anything he had ever heard from his father. Perhaps, Arthur's way might just become his own. He had already resolved that he would not become corrupt, and with a faith in God so strong, that was one thing that he could achieve with success. Fulcina looked out at this battlefield that would soon be littered with the bodies of friend and foe alike with compassion, respect and trepidation. The thought that Dagonet might perhaps be one of those dead made her nearly want to weep. She couldn't stand the thought of him dying, the only alone that she knew now she loved. But, she felt that her call was in Rome to guide her son along the right path, but had it been anything less, she knew that she would have stayed. Silently, she prayed that he would pull through and Arthur would be granted victory over his enemies. Perhaps, she would come back one day.

Leading the caravan away from the fort that had been defended by Roman forces for the past three centuries were the Sarmation knights. They too were leaving, but there was no feeling of joy or expectation that made their souls light. Instead, they felt weighed down by a strange feeling of guilt, because their was a nagging feeling in all their minds that they were running away from a fight in which they could make a real difference, and they felt like they were abandoning the man who had led them unfailingly for the past fifteen years.

High on a hill which overlooked the entire field, from the burning hay to the Saxon army which blanketed the valley beyond the wall in a black carpet, two lone horsemen watched the caravan rolling away from the fort. Arthur and Tristran, in full battle armor, astride their horses, waiting for the inevitable clash of forces.

Tristran glanced over at Arthur, who was watching the knights leaving with the Romans with a look of sadness in his eyes. Down below, through the smoke, he could see that many of the other knights were also stealing glances at the hill above, not any of them being able to put into words what it was that they were feeling inside at this unexpected farewell to a man who had been leader, friend and brother to each of them all rolled into one. The man they had followed through every kind of horror and terror, now staying for a fight that could cut his life short before his time.

Tristran was feeling a sense of loss and sadness. He had considered the knights to be like his brothers, even if he had never been particularly close with any of them. He had fought with them, lived with them, and in some cases, mourned and grieved with them. He had always hoped that it would end differently than this. "It doesn't seem right that they should be leaving." he finally offered. It didn't help the loss, but it seemed to express what they were both feeling perfectly.

Arthur threw a glance at Tristran and than turned back to watch his friends leave the wall, "it is their right." was all he said. But, Tristran knew that Arthur wished that they could ride into battle side by side once more.

Tristran knew to that it was their right to choose their freedom, and he couldn't blame them to for wanting to pursue it. Bors had a family to take of, and the rest all had plans and families to motivate their return. They weren't like him, who didn't have anything but what he had found for himself here. Still, a part of him thought that in running from this battle, the knights were running from their duty.

Suddenly, down below, Bors drew his sword and galloped away from the line. "Artorius!" he roared, saluting Arthur with his sword, "RUS!!"

A moment of silence followed this, during which Arthur stood silent and still. Bors lowered his sword, half afraid that Arthur hadn't heard him. Than Arthur raised his standard and roared back the cry that had issued from the throats of his knights so many times, "Ruuuuuuuuus!"

Tristran looked on silently. He couldn't do anything to add the moment, which seemed to speak perfectly for itself as it was. He took one last glance at the caravan and said a silent goodbye to each of the knights as they passed by him for the last time. They were riding past, all of them watching this last farewell that Bors had delivered to Arthur in glum silence. Bors tried to make out Arthur through the heavily descending smokescreen, before finally turning and galloping back to the caravan. Arthur's green eyes filled with tears as the caravan began to turn the bend in the road and disappear from view. He was sure that it would be the last time he saw any of them again.

But, Arthur had never been one to become distracted by his emotions when there was a battle to be fought. Once the caravan was gone from view, his mind switched back to that of a cool and resourceful Roman commander who had covered every angle, planned every defense and planted a few surprises for the enemy that they would not suspect. He mentally reviewed the positions of the villagers who had been able to fight, as well as the mercenaries who had once served Marius Honarius, who were waiting for the signal to attack. The hay bales, the tar, everything he had planned down to the last point, even down to his secret weapon: the Woads, the force that the Saxons were not expecting, hiding in the forest and just behind this hill, waiting for their time.

"Are the Woads ready?" he asked, giving no indication that he had just goodbye to his closest friends a moment before.

"They should be. As soon as Dagonet returns, we'll know for sure."

Arthur nodded and returned to his surveying of the valley below them. It was than that he saw something that caught his eye. "Tristran, look." he said.

Tristran looked and through the gathering smoke, he saw the Saxon leader standing about thirty feet away from the army. In front of him, waving a white flag of truce was the scout that he recognized from the mountains, the one that had called himself Geoffrey and that Anaria had called traitor. Apparently, the Saxon wanted to have a personal conference with Arthur before he tried to slaughter him. 'How polite of him,' thought Tristran ruefully, 'he wants to ask Arthur permission before he kills him.'

Arthur regarded the flag bearer for a moment, considering his options, than he said decisively. "I'm going down there. Tristran, hold here and wait or Dagonet. I trust you to know what to do from there."

"Arthur, are you sure that's a smart move? He could kill you."

"I don't think he will." said Arthur, "Besides, how can I defeat this enemy if I don't see him face to face. I want to know what I'm going to be up against."

Arthur didn't wait for an answer, but stabbed his standard into the ground and wheeled his horse to gallop down to the valley floor. In another moment, Tristran was standing on his own at the hill's crest. He wasn't sure if he could share Arthur's optimism in this matter. Something told him that the Saxon leader would slay Arthur by any means fair or foul if he got half a chance. But Arthur hadn't become the respected leader that he was by making foolhardy decisions. Tristran had to trust that Arthur knew what he was doing. All the same, he kept one hand on his bow, just in case he needed to load it quickly.

Arthur met up down below with the leader, and it seemed like the two of them were having a tense standoff, Arthur continually circling with his horse, Excalibur drawn and ready, while the Saxon seemed to take everything in stride. He was calm beyond reason, even a trifle amused by what was passing between them. Tristran sensed that here was a man who didn't excite easily, and didn't know the meaning of the word fear.

Relieved that things seem to be going smoothly down below him, Tristran relaxed his grip on the bow but was still ready to react should Arthur need help.

A cry of a hawk overhead caused Tristran to look up. Circling above him in the pale blue of the sky, quickly becoming obscured by the swiftly rising smoke, was Onora, who had come back from wherever she had rested the previous night. Tristran held up his arm and she landed on it, as she always had before. "So, you decided to com back did you?" She squawked in response. "I almost wished you hadn't. War is going to be joined here soon. I don't want you to get hurt." The look in the hawks' fierce eyes made Tristran know that she didn't care if there was danger; she knew where it was that she belonged.

Tristran smiled sadly. So many memories attached to this one bird. Ever since he had rescued her from death eight years ago, she had been his most constant companion. She had understood him better than many people had. Tristran knew it was because she was repaying him for the service he had rendered her. Yet, however she may have been content with her life; he sometimes saw how she wheeled in the sky, calling out to other members of her kind. She could sometimes stay away for days, returning with a reluctance that made Tristran think she didn't want to come back. He knew that a part of her had always been too wild to be completely tamed; a part of her had always wanted to be free. Her way of life, had in a way, been very much a reflection of his own.

"Onora," he said softly, "go back to the skies. That's where you belong, with your own kind. I will not need you anymore in the life that I am about to start and you deserve to have a new life, just as I do." He looked into Onora's eyes, and saw written in them a final farewell; she understood what he was saying. The hawk bumped her head against Tristran's chest, thanking him in her own way. Tristran stroked her head, one last time, "One last request I would like to make of you, Onora. Find my brothers, show them where they belong." He didn't need to explain any further, Onora knew what was being asked of her.

He raised his arm and Onora took to the skies, wheeling above him once and calling high and long into the winter winds. Tristran knew what she was saying. "Goodbye, Onora." he whispered softly, "I won't forget you."

The thunder of hooves behind him broke his solitude. Dagonet came riding up from the woods and pulled to a stop beside Tristran, "Where's Arthur?" he asked.

Tristran gestured down to the valley floor, "The Saxon wanted to talk a truce with him."

Dagonet laughed, "Did he really think that he could make Arthur give up that easily?"

"I don't think that it was more an opportunity for the two of them to meet face to face and give them a chance to see who they will be fighting against."

At that moment, Arthur came riding up, his interview over. Tristran didn't need to ask him what had passed between them, but he could see that it had left him with a stronger determination than ever to defeat the Saxons and wipe them the threat from the land.

"Dagonet," he said, "what is the situation of the Woads?"

"They're ready to fight, Arthur, whenever you need them."

Arthur nodded and took his place between the two knights, glancing at them in each in turn, he asked, "Are you with me?"

"To the death." was what Dagonet said for them both.

Tristran nodded, not needing to say any words to assure Arthur of his loyalty. He had made his choice. So, the three lone knights on the hill waited for the battle to begin, not knowing that they were about to be joined by four unexpected, though not at all unwelcome additions to their numbers.

* * *

_**For always, forever  
Beyond here and unto eternity  
For always, forever  
For us, there's no time and no space  
No barrier love won't erase  
Wherever you go is to know  
In my heart you will be with me. **_The Woads were preparing for battle. Weapons were being checked and double-checked, plans were being drawn together and tension was hanging thick in the air.

Guinevere was in her element. This was where she belonged. Guiding and directing the battle efforts, fighting for the ultimate freedom of her people. This was not the main fighting force, merely a squadron to distract and fool the Saxons, at least for the time being. If Arthur's plan worked, than they would be having their own battle to fight apart from Arthur and the Woads. Merlin had put her in charge of this squadron, and she knew every one of them to be skillful and capable fighters, willing to die for the cause if it came to that end. And if they died, they would be forever remembered in the stories and songs of the Woads. When she was certain that everything was as prepared as it could be for what was to come, she joined Anaria at the front of the forces.

"Well, we are all ready." she said, "Many Saxons will meet their death today before we ever give up."

Anaria glanced at her cousin. She could see the old fighting spirit rising in her, the old fire of a warrior that would not rest until she had won what she had set out to accomplish.

"Even if you are the last Woad before the sun sets this day, Guinevere," said Anaria, with a slight grin, "than the Saxons will see just how much damage you can do even alone."

"You and me both." said Guinevere.

Suddenly, Anaria felt as if she was being watched, and the penetrating gaze felt familiar. She raised her eyes to Badon Hill, and through the smoke she saw the outlines of three horsemen, quickly becoming obscured by the smoke. She knew them to be Arthur, Dagonet, and Tristran, and she instinctively could sense that Tristran's eyes were searching for her own though he couldn't see her. She stared back at him, feeling as though they were speaking though they were separated by a great distance. She couldn't say what those words might have been, but in their hearts, they both understood. Anaria began to feel herself trembling inwardly, not from fear, but from a heaviness of soul that she couldn't deny: the heaviness that came with the thought that they might never meet again.

Guinevere, as if sensing her trepidation, put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "You'll see him again, Anaria. You'll come through this all right."

"I know that, Guinevere, but even you must admit that hardly anything is certain in this kind of situation." she said, with a sigh and turned her eyes away from the hill, unable to maintain the connection with Tristran any longer.

Guinevere turned Anaria so that they were facing each other, "Anaria whatever happens out there today, I can assure you that I will forever stand by your side, until death, and I'll remember you after. Whatever happens, I will always love you."

Anaria smiled, "Thank you, Guinevere. I don't know if I ever have told you this, but you are the closest thing I have ever had to a sister. And I think, in some ways, you might mean more to me than that. It is an honor to fight beside you this day."

The two embraced, as two sisters would, seeking to give each other comfort and strength before the horrors of the fray separated them, either temporarily or permanently.

The thunder of distant hooves caused them to look up at the hill and what they saw caused them both to smile. On the hill stood not three, but now seven horsemen, waiting eagerly for the battle. Guinevere turned to her cousin, "There, you see? I told you they would come back."

Just than the loud thunder of the Saxon drums began echoing across the valley; both Anaria and Guinevere heard the sound and looked at each other, any sign of joking or humor vanished from their faces, replaced by serious and determined looks. They were ready, no matter what came. "Here we go," said Anaria, "for better and for worse."

"Conceal yourselves, everyone." said Guinevere, in a low voice, "Remember your assignments and wait for the signal. Don't stir until, then."

The Woads melted back into the shadows of the trees, blending in as one with the forest, and waited for the opportune moment to strike.

* * *

_**From this day on  
I'm certain I'll never be alone  
I know what my heart must have always known  
That love has a power that's all it's own. **_Tristran could feel the reverberations of the Saxon drums vibrating in the air around him. The steeds that the knights had ridden for fifteen years could feel it also. They were pawing and stamping, snorting and blowing, waiting for the moment when they could run with the wind and go into battle. Those horses they were sitting on had carried them through rough times that would have caused many other men to turn back. The knights nearly had turned their backs, but duty had called them back, to their first real fight as free men.

The Saxon drums were booming as thunder over the plains, and sections of the Saxon army had begun to march toward the wall, chanting their war cries as if they had come out of some dreadful nightmare.

But, Arthur's strong voice was louder and stronger than any sounds the Saxons could make. He rode back and forth in front of the knights, his face alight with passionate determination, a look that infused the knights with a feeling of excitement and anticipation.

"Knights, the gift of freedom is yours by right. But the home we seek resides not in some distant land. It's in us! And in our actions on this day!"

Tristran felt himself grip his standard tighter, a surge of pride rushing through him and infecting him with a feeling the likes of which he had never known. Yes, this was what he been born for, this was the battle he had been meant to fight from the very beginning, the purpose he had been working for all his life.

Arthur continued, passion adding fuel to his words so that there could be no more doubt in anyone's mind that he had grown from a man, into a king. "If this be our destiny, then so be it. But let history remember that as free men, we choose to make it so."

Arthur drew Excalibur and held it aloft to the skies. "Ruuuuuuuuus!" The war cry came from the throats of all the knights, for a moment putting the loudest of the chanting Saxons to utter shame.

Tristran roared almost the loudest of any of them. He felt strangely excited by what was about to come. He felt no fear, but rather all the promise of what he was fighting to protect. He had promised himself that he wouldn't fail Arthur, or this land, and above all, Anaria.

The knights stabbed the standards they had been carrying into the ground, their blood pumping, hardly able to wait for the battle to start. Tristran's eyes suddenly saw or rather sensed a presence in the tree that was just on the opposite side of the wall. He couldn't be sure, but he felt that there was someone in that tree, and if there was, he just might be watching the fort to any information that could aid the Saxons and tip the tide of battle in the enemy's favor. And Tristran simply couldn't allow that to happen.

Arthur seemed to sense the same thing, but Tristran was already moving before Arthur could even look at his scout to see if he had picked up the same thing. Tristran drew his bow and knocked an arrow onto its string. He scanned the horizon for an instant, watching for the right moment and the right aim, than he let fly. The tree was over half a mile away with branches that grew close together; no one but the most skilled of archers could have made that shot and hoped it would even be close. And Tristran just happened to be one of those few. The arrow whistled over the distance in the space of seconds, sailing over the wall and straight through the trees, stopping in the heart of the British scout named Geoffrey. The last thought that flashed through the traitors' mind as he fell with a scream was that the words of the woman he had met on the mountain trail had turned out to be true: he had died a traitors' death and it had been a quick one.

Tristran lowered the bow as he saw the body fall with a feeling of satisfaction. Tristran had never been one to pause and mourn for the dead. There was a job to do and a battle to be won. The knights galloped off, leaving their standards fluttering in the breeze. Arthur and his knights were riding once again, free men at last.

* * *

_**And for always, forever  
Now we can fly  
And for always and always  
We will go on beyond goodbye. **_Swords clashed, spears clattered and bodies thudded together as Woad met Saxon, sometimes two to one, sometimes three to one. They may have been outnumbered, but the Woads had something that the Saxons would never have: something to fight for. The taste of freedom was now too great to allow them to sit idly by and let it be snatched from their grasp once more. So, despite the blood which flowed, the wounded groaning (many knowing that they could be dead from loss of blood before the day was over) the Woads fought on like blue demons, slaughtering Saxons left and right, cutting swathes of destruction through their numbers.

All thoughts and fears of dying were out of Anaria's mind. She fought proudly and expertly, not backing down or running from any challenge that came her way, and more often than not, defeating them all. Those that she couldn't handle would be soon dealt with by others.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall of flame that separated the main army of Saxons from the flank (and also Tristran from Anaria), the determined scout was firing off arrows from horseback, guiding the horse with his knees and taking down Saxon after Saxon as coolly as if he were just using them for target practice. He was in his element, deadly, cold, and accurate. But little did he know, that he was about to meet his ultimate challenge.

Tristran's arrows were soon depleted and it was time to join the battle on foot. Dismounting gracefully, he brought his oriental saber, (already stained with the blood of many kills he had made since this battle began) and brought it into the ready position. He gutted the first Saxon that was foolish enough to get within striking distance upon the dangerous blade. Then, he spied bigger game on the field. The Saxon leader was cutting down Woads left and right, as cool and methodical as Tristran made his kills. Tristran saw in this Saxon a dark antithesis of what he himself was on the battlefield, for though he did kill and enjoyed it, he knew where it had to end; this Saxon seemed almost to thrive on death and suffering, and he didn't know where to stop.

Tristran was, above all else, a warrior, and the thought of meeting an opponent like this made excitement course through his already heated veins. He raised his eyes to meet those of the Saxon leader. Cerdic instantly saw that here was a fighter who could not be beaten by the broad strokes of his ax; he would need to use a weapon that he could meet him head on with. Cerdic threw his ax aside and drew his sword.

Just to get a feel for the knights' poweress, he sent one of his bodyguards out first. The Saxon obeyed, though he didn't seem exactly thrilled to be going to meet this warrior, who had death written in his eyes. Tristran sized up this opponent within two seconds. He shunned the few pitiful strokes that the Saxon was able to lay in, and dispatched him by slicing his throat across. The Saxon fell with a gurgle, but Tristran didn't even give him a second glance. Instead he turned to stare at the Saxon leader, 'can you not do any better than that?' he thought, smirking.

Cerdic knew that he was facing a capable warrior and a skillful one at that. Well, that was fine with him. Cerdic had felled too many people that day that hadn't stood up to his definition of a challenge; this knight just might fill that description.

Removing his helmet, Tristran raised his sword to the ready position and prepared to meet his opponent.

Anaria had no idea what was happening on the other side of the how wall of flame that seemed to separate her like a wall made of stone. She had no way of knowing that Tristran was fighting his last battle, but deep in her heart, she felt a strange need, that got a stronger by the moment. She didn't know why, but she had to find Tristran, she had to get to the other side of the wall of flames that separated her from him.

Unfortunately, that proved to be an impossible task. She couldn't get within 20 feet of the fire, so high and hot it was it felt like her skin was melting each time the wind pushed the broiling flames in the direction of her body. She backed off, and assessed her options. Desperate and frustrated, she realized she would have to run to cross the flames the long way. She hated to do that, since she felt that precious time would be wasted, but there was no other choice. Gathering her strength, Anaria began to run. She ran without hearing the sounds of battle except as a dull roar in her ears and the flames coming to her as mere background noise in her mind. The only thing that she thought was the necessity to get to Tristran before it was too late.

For what seemed like hours she ran, fighting the enemies that got in her way, intent that no one would stop her and no one would be able too. Finally, she made it to the other side of the fire wall, scarcely the worse for wear, with just a few scraps and bruises. But the hard run had cost her energy and she stopped for a moment in the shelter of the wall, where the fighting was less intense, to rest.

Anaria looked around to see if she could see Tristran, but the battle was more dense and packed on this side, and the noise seemed to have increased ten-fold, almost as if she had stepped into another battle entirely. Nevertheless, she knew Tristran was here, amidst the all the claustrophobic carnage of people fighting, killing and dying. And she also sensed that he was close. The feeling that he was in mortal danger seemed to have increased now that she was closer to him, and she was determined to make sure that that feeling would not come true. The only thing she could do was battle her way through the packed throng and hope to find him as quickly as possible.

Tristran knew that he was fighting for his life. The Saxon was stronger than he had originally anticipated. Blow after blow, strike after strike, each one was beginning to slowly but surely wear him down. Cerdic knew this and he was putting his brute strength behind each and every thrust. Tristran kept putting up a good fight, but was beginning to fade. The Saxon was to strong for him, and he was outmatching Tristran's normally deadly grace and poise with a combination of cold brutality and utter mercilessness. It was ironic, in a way, thought Tristran. His dance of death was being put down by the savage ruthlessness of this Saxon. He had picked a fight that he knew not that he couldn't win. His fate was sealed.

Cerdic thrust at him with a sword, a blow that could have gone into Tristran's stomach and that he barely had time to block. It was only when he felt the pain in his legs that he knew that the Saxon had originally meant to do. It had been a blind for his real method of attack, which had been to slice at Tristran's legs with a knife he had drawn fro his waist belt. Tristran's legs buckled out from him, as Cerdic slashed at his face with the same blade. Tristran felt pain clawing at him, and for an instant he could nothing but blackness. He fought it, and struggled to get to his feet. He couldn't give up now; he was determined to keep on fighting as long as he could before... he pushed that thought away. No, he was not going to fear his death. He had walked into this battle and he didn't intend to run away from it like a coward, no matte how it was fated to end.

He got to his feet and the fight began anew, but there was less of a give and take this time. Cerdic was definitely gaining the upper hand. Tristran was tired and weak from his wounds, feeling the blood that was draining from his body wetting the skin under his armor. Cerdic just fought on like some type of mechanical thing, not tiring or slowing down even a little. Still Tristran fought bravely, trying to give as good as he got, but it was not enough. Both Tristran and Cerdic knew that it he wouldn't be able to keep up his resistance forever.

Cerdic used the sword and dagger to great effect against each other. And while he parried an overhead thrust from Tristran he took the advantage and cut deeply into his sword arm, knocking Tristran's sword flying. Tristran backed off a few steps and he and Cerdic both took the opportunity to rest and gather their strength. Tristran could see that his options were limited; he was unarmed and he couldn't retrieve his sword without running the risk of being stabbed mortally by Cerdic. The only option left was to fight with one of the knives that he kept in his chest armor. He began to remove one, knowing that he couldn't kill Cerdic, but intending to make it as difficult for the Saxon to kill him as he could.

Cerdic was impressed by this knight's skill. Most people would have given up; most people would have been dead. But this knight seemed determined to fight to the death. The stubborn resistance of this knight against death made Cerdic all the more determined to kill him. But, not like this. It would be no fun to kill him so cleanly. Cerdic, like the cat with the mouse, felt a need to play with his prey before he finally brought an end to its suffering. He kicked the sword back to the wounded knight and waited.

Tristran looked doubtfully at the blade, briefly wondering if this was really worth it. And it was at this point that a vision of the past flashed across his memory. It had been much like this eight years before, when he had fought the Mark's champion to make sure that Isolde, Anaria could be free. He had questioned then, as he was now, and the answer had been the same both times. It was to fight, for her, his brother, this land, everything that he had ever experienced had come down to this moment.

He grabbed the sword, but was only able to lay in a few strokes before a pain unlike any other he had felt before shot through his arm and spread throughout his whole body. He looked down to his right arm and saw to his horror that the Saxon had stabbed the knife he had been wielding through his arm, straight through skin, bone and tissue, rendering his sword arm useless and making him unable to defend himself. He was at the Saxons' mercy now, and mercy he knew he would not get.

Cerdic kicked him to the blood-soaked ground. Tristran fell with a groan; he didn't know how much pain he had been in until he struck the ground. Hot, white light exploded inside his head and the pain in his arm felt like it was eating into the rest of his body, spreading the pain further, slowly robbing him of the ability to move. Everything was becoming clouded and misty. He suddenly had the sensation of floating over his own body. He could see himself crawling pathetically away from the Saxon, the pain of his wounds making movement more and more impossible. He was trying to get away, trying to deny his destiny.

Anaria was off about twenty feet away, fighting desperately against a group of Saxons. And it was then that she saw Tristran and her strength, which might have been ebbing at that point, returned in full force. She saw Tristran fall to his knees before the Saxon and the Saxon leader consider his own sword, before opting for the more elegant blade of the Sarmation scout.

"No!" whispered Anaria, horrified as the realization of what was about to happen struck her full force. "No!" she screamed, rage flooding her as she began to fight harder, felling Saxons left and right. heedless of their screams, she fought on, all thought of personal safety gone from her as she combated like a raging tiger, trying desperately to get to Tristran before it was to late.

But it was already too late. Tristran managed only one more blow to the Saxon, when he pulled the knife that had had been embedded in his arm out with great effort and stabbed it into the Saxon's thigh. It was hardly a glancing wound, but it made Tristran feel a little better. Cerdic retaliated by stabbing him in the ribs. A wave of pain of pain flooded through him, and he felt the strength finally drain completely from his body. He could now no longer make one move to defend himself, nor did he wish to. He had fought on until the end, and he had done so as a free man. That made the pain of death seem somewhat less than it had before.

He watched, as the evil Saxon prepared to deliver the final blow. But, he didn't want to spend his last few minutes staring up into that evil, barbaric face. Instead, he chose to look beyond him, to the cloudless blue skies which were now visible beyond the smoke and haze of battle. He saw Onora circling in the sky above him and knew that she had come to offer one last goodbye. Then he though he heard Anaria. The gathering mists of death had clouded his once sharp senses and he couldn't hear exactly what she might have been saying, it could have just been a hallucination. But, though he may not have been able to hear what she said with his ears, he could suddenly see her, though not in these present circumstances. Rather he saw her as he had seen her eight years before, and once more, he felt his heart beat faster. That was the sight that was upon his heart and mind as Cerdic raised the blade and brought it down across his chest. Tristran fell heavily to the ground, dead.

When she saw this, Anaria felt like some part of her had been ripped from her very soul. She felt her heart break in two and for a split second she couldn't move, the grief robbing her of all thought, except that Tristran couldn't be dead, he couldn't be. That moment of slipped guard on her part, though, prevented her from sensing the Saxon archer who was taking aim behind her.

Anaria felt the arrow pierce her back, and she knew that it had gone through her heart, and that she was going to die. 'Funny,' she thought, 'I never expected it to feel like this.' For though she felt the pain, yet deep within her soul, she felt a strange kind of release and detachment, a peace that she hadn't known in a long time. 'So, this is death.'

She suddenly became aware of another presence beside her. It was Dagonet.

"Anaria," he said, desperately, "are you all right?"

"I didn't think that you would be able to drop in for a visit."

"You don't think that I would miss an opportunity to chat with you, do you?" he said, trying to make light of the situation, but then he spotted the blood that was spreading over her skin, the glazed look that was coming over her eyes, and her movements becoming sluggish, and he was unable to deny the truth any longer. "No, Anaria. You can't die now."

"It's to late, my friend." she said, gently, "If you were looking for and opportunity to fulfill your oath, now would be the time."

"Tell me what to do?" said Dagonet, his heart breaking, and feeling tears in his eyes, but knowing that denial was now impossible and would help no one.

"Bring me to him." she said, finding that her lungs were constricting and she was finding it difficult to get the breath she needed to talk.

Dagonet supported her and together they made their way to the fallen knight. Anaria fell heavily beside and looked into his face, entranced by the look of utter peace she saw there. It didn't seem like he had died in any pain. That was a blessing at least.

"Is there anything more that I can do?" asked Dagonet, softly.

"No." said Anaria, then a sudden thought struck here, and she said, "Yes, yes. Tell our story, Dagonet, mine and Tristran's, everything from start to finish. Tell it to any who wish to hear it. I don't want our story to be forgotten. That, more than anything else you could have done, will fulfill you oath to the highest degree. Promise me this, Dagonet."

"You have my word." said Dagonet, now making no attempt to hide the tears that were coursing openly down his face.

"Thank you, my friend." said Anaria, though her voice sounded to her faint and far away to her ears. "Leave me now. Live and may fortune bless you."

She didn't see Dagonet leave, she didn't see the Saxon leader Cerdic falling dead not far off, killed by Arthur. Nor did she see that the battle was ended and her people had won. They were finally free at least.

Indeed, everything around her had fallen away, this world and all the pain and anguish she experienced in it were falling away from her. She felt light and joy coursing through every vein in her body. And the only thing she saw was Tristran, as had been in his prime, holding out his arms to her and calling her home to him.

"Remember your promise, Tristran," whispered Anaria in her dying breath, "wait for me. It will not be a long wait for either of us. And now we shall never be separated again, it will only be us, for always and forever."

And thus passed the knight Tristran and his lady Anaria, or who would come to be remembered by her Roman name of Isolde, their legend remembered by all who hear it. They died to be together forever, to dance and fly across the skies, never again to be separated.

_**For always, forever  
Beyond here and unto eternity  
For always and forever  
You'll be a part of me **_

**_And for always, forever  
A thousand tomorrows may cross the sky  
And for always, and always  
We will go on beyond goodbye_**

Well, what can I say? I couldn't resist writing a dramatic death scene. But wait before you start flaming me, please take a moment to read the epilogue to this story and maybe your opinions will change.


	28. Epilogue

Epilogue:  
_**T**__**here'll be no ties of time and space to bind us  
And no horizon we shall not pursue  
We'll leave the world's misfortunes far behind us  
And I will put my faith and trust in you.  
**_Enchantment Passing Through  
Aida

BRITAIN, 472  
Guinevere and Arthur stood, hands latched onto Excalibur as they watched the fire arrows trace trails of smoke in the bright blue sky. The arrows sailed through the air for an eternal instant before finally dropping into the sea with multiple hisses. The chant of "Arthur! Arthur!" rang to the hills and rebounded as it grew to fever pitch.

Both Arthur and Guinevere turned, smiling to the cheering crowd and even though she knew she wouldn't be able to see her, the new queen of Britain instinctively tried to find the one face which she knew wouldn't be there. For a moment, her smile faltered and she sniffed, trying not to let tears of sadness mar an occasion which should be a time of celebration. She was happy, there was no doubt in her mind that she was. Her home was finally free, her people united and she herself married to the man that she loved with all her heart. But, she was also sad, sad because her best friend, the one who had been like a sister to her wouldn't be there to share in the triumph of this day.

Again Guinevere sniffed. She still couldn't get over the fact that Anaria was gone and wouldn't be coming back. When she had seen her cousin's pierced body on the battlefield once the smoke had cleared, she had cried for the first time since she had been a child. But when she had seen the look on her cousin's face, a look that had been so peaceful and joyful and the way she had died beside Tristran, almost as if they were embracing for all eternity, finally at peace. That had lessened the wound somewhat, but still the bitter sweetness of her death remained.

Arthur saw her struggle and said gently, "Are you all right, Guinevere?"

"Yes, Arthur. It's just that Anaria is not here." She gestured to the crowd, who were beginning to line up to pay their personal respects to the new rulers of Britain. "We both fought so hard for the same thing. It just doesn't feel the same without her."

"I understand." said Arthur, nodding sympathetically, "I feel the same this day. I keep thinking about Lancelot, Tristran, as well as all the knights who have died in my service through all these years. But, now I understand better than ever what the end result has been. That makes the pain of their sacrifice make much more sense. I wish they all could be here now, but in a way they are. They're in our hearts, and as long as we remember them, they won't ever be truly gone."

Guinevere smiled. She was still sad, but she felt by Arthur's wise words. It convinced her more than ever that Arthur was truly the best man to rule her country. "Besides, if Anaria were here right now she would tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself and my loss and get on with the life that she died to help me enjoy."

"Lancelot would have said the same thing. Shall we, then?" said Arthur, presenting his arm to his new wife.

"Yes," said Guinevere, accepting his arm. However she took a moment to only say in a soft voice. "The only real regret I have is that I never got a chance to say goodbye."

Arthur's eyes clouded for a moment. "So do I, Guinevere, so do I."

But, despite the solemn moment, the tears no longer fell from their eyes. There was so much still to celebrate. The two stepped forward, ready to get their new subjects.

However, there had been witnesses to ceremony which had made Arthur and Guinevere one which no one had suspected.

There was an old legend among the Sarmations that mighty warriors who die on the battlefield return as great horses. Some might have considered this a simple myth, but there was more truth to it that might be originally supposed. The four horses which had stood and watched the proceedings from a hill overlooking the ocean had all once been warriors in their day, despite the fact that one of them hadn't been a Sarmation but a Woad. But why should such trivialities matter after death?

They had watched the whole ceremony in respectful silence, all of them proud that they had had a part in bringing it about. They said as much to each other, for though humans could not hear their voices, they could understand each other perfectly well and that was all that mattered.

One of them, an impressive black stallion, stepped forward and tossed his head to the others. "Come on," he said, in the voice of the knight who had been the closest friend to Arthur in his human days, "it's time to pay our respects to them."

He received no argument, but the others whinnied and moved to follow him. When the lead black broke into a gallop, there was no hesitation from the others in following suit. They galloped swiftly upon the grass, racing as though they had wings instead of feet, running nearly to outstrip the wind itself. The thunder of their hooves reverberated into the earth, making the ground tremble as though it were experiencing an earthquake.

The sound of hoofbeats caused Guinevere to turn halfway from greeting the people and when she saw the four horses, excitement gripped her and she grabbed Arthur whose back was turned, and cried eagerly, "Arthur, look."

Arthur did look, as did everyone else in the group, though none but a very few could have understood fully what they were seeing. Four horses, two majestic blacks, one elegant dapple gray and a feisty red roan were galloping across the plains of Britain, faster and stronger than any horse the people had ever saw. It took only one glance to see that these were no ordinary horses; they ran like the very spirit of freedom itself, nothing to restrain them or to keep them back.

Only Arthur, Guinevere and the other knights who those horses really were. Arthur watched them, especially the lead black with something like tears in his eyes, but none that would fall for they were tears of joy. The black stallion dipped his proud head in a respectful bow, the gleam of light in his eyes reminding Arthur of the mischievous glint that had so often lighted the eyes of Lancelot. Any guilt that Arthur might have felt over his friends' death evaporated in that moment. He knew that Lancelot had died as he wanted, in a battle of his choosing. He couldn't have been more grateful to his friend; his sacrifice had made it possible for Guinevere to be beside him today. For that alone, Arthur would never forget him.

The four horses galloped the whole length of the grassland, never slowing, going ever faster and faster over the plains, their hoof beats beating out steady thunder into the earth. And though no one might have known exactly why the horses were there, they couldn't help but cheer at the majestic sight.

Anaria, just before they were over the last hill which would bring them out of sight of the sea and the circle of stones upon their cliffs, turned and reared up on her hind legs. She let loose a long, loud neigh which even Guinevere from that great distance could hear clearly. She smiled and lifted her arm in a triumphant farewell to her friend and cousin. Though she would probably never see her again, yet she was happy that she had been given one last chance to say goodbye to Anaria. Guinevere could even have sworn that she heard Anaria's voice echoing softly in her mind, as though carried to her by a soft summer wind. "Goodbye, Guinevere. May your rule be long and happy. Don't ever forget me."

"I won't, Anaria, I won't." said Guinevere softly.

Guinevere was not the only that heard Anaria's voice. Dagonet watched her with joyful tears in his eyes, as he heard he voice in his mind too, "Goodbye, my friend. Remember your promise. Tell our story"

"I will, Anaria." he said, "At least now I can give it a happy ending."

Anaria, after one last glance, wheeled and cantered away, leaving Arthur, Guinevere and the people of Britain to begin their new lives. They now had a legend of their own to live, as did she.

Tristran was the first to meet her. "Do you think they are ready?" she asked him, though her mouth never moved and any human would have heard just the whinnying and grunting customary of that species.

"Together," said Tristran, "they will be more than ready."

"And we should get on with out lives." said Anaria.

"Yes, but there will be no boundaries for us this time. We can go anywhere now. Nothing is separating us, and nothing ever will."

Anaria nuzzled Tristran under the chin, "I love you, Tristran."

"I love you, too."

A whinny broke through their intimate moment. "Hey!" they heard the voice of Sagramore say, and they turned to see that Tristran's brother and Lancelot had moved away from them a little ways. They were obviously ready to resume their journey to wherever, for truth be told they had no firm destination in mind; they would just be going wherever the wind led them, and that would be half the adventure. "Are you two coming? We have places to see and adventures to have. Come on, or we'll leave you here to eat our dust."

"You'll be the one eating our dust." Anaria neighed back, as she began galloping toward them, Tristran keeping stride with her easily.

Neighing and whinnying, in ways that sounded ghostly like the laughter of humans, the four horses, the spirits of Anaria, Tristran, Lancelot, and Sagramore raced across the plains of Britain, into the setting sun and into legend, free at last.

_As for the knights who gave their lives, their deaths were cause for neither mourning nor sadness, for they will live forever, their names and deeds handed down from father to son, mother to daughter, in the legends of King Arthur and his knights._  
King Arthur

A MUSEUM, PRESENT DAY  
The eyes of a hawk, that's what was often said of him. He saw everything that moved before him and sometimes in back of him as well. He saw everything, including things that even other men could not see. He watched her now, had been watching her for some time in fact, and the more he watched, the more entranced he found himself becoming.

He hadn't thought that much of it when he had first seen her. There were many people mingling in this museum and at first, she seemed to be just another face in the crowd. But, as his eyes, seemingly on their own accord began to see her more and more, he couldn't help but begin to think that there was something about her that was different from anyone else there, or indeed anyone he had ever seen before.

There didn't seem to be anything amazing in her to the untrained eye; there was nothing about her that made her stand out. But, perhaps that was precisely why he found attractive. It wasn't long before he was so enchanted that her couldn't look at any of the other exhibits in the room, and could only watch her.

She felt her eyes on him, and though she felt him looking at her, she didn't feel any reason to fear him or be uncomfortable under his gaze. It wasn't like the wolfish looks she got from some men; she had learned to ignore those types of looks. This look was something that she couldn't ignore. Some might have found his gaze unnerving, for he was staring at her unwaveringly, as though she were the only thing that was in the room, but she wasn't disturbed by it. Rather, she found it strangely pleasurable.

She stole a few glances at him herself, and had to like what she saw. He had black hair which came to his shoulders, and some of it seemed to be perpetually in his eyes, which only served to make those his dark, all-seeing eyes all the more attractive. About him hung an air of mystery that she couldn't help but find intensely alluring.

He tried to shake it off, telling himself that she was no different than any other woman that he had ever met. She tried to brush it off as nothing, just a passing girlish fancy. They tried to ignore the connection that was somehow there, but they couldn't and inexorably, whenever they tried to look at something else, their eyes would be drawn back to each other.

It was he who made the first move, walking in a way that appeared to be just aimless wondering among the museum exhibits, but he was, in truth, walking ever closer to her side. She knew he was coming closer to her, but she made no move to avoid his presence, and perhaps she herself took a few steps to make his journey shorter.

They met over one of the smaller exhibits in the museum, which was currently showing a tour of various artifacts found at Hadrian's Wall in England. There were many swords, spears, shields and other artifacts from the dark ages. The main theme of this touring exhibit was to shed some light upon the legendary figure of King Arthur, and whether or not there could be any truth ascertained from these artifacts that the legend was actually derived from fact. But these two didn't really care anymore what the exhibit was about. They had forgotten why they had come into the museum anyway, they were instead captivated by each other, though neither one could say why.

The exhibit they met over was a sword, a sword that didn't look like a conventional weapon. It was curved, deadly sharp, and brilliantly made; the blade of a true warrior.

The two stared at the sword, than unconsciously on either part, their eyes rose to meet the others' gaze. Neither could place, why, when they looked into each other's eyes, they felt that they had somehow met each other before, but both were certain that until that day, they had never seen the other.

It was, again, he who made the first move. "It's a beautiful sword, isn't it?"

"Yes." she said, feeling a little awkward under his gaze, because she couldn't find anything to say. But, than she couldn't think of any reason to leave, nor did she really want to leave when she thought about it. "Not that I would know for sure if it was a good weapon or not. I don't know anything about this period in history, in weaponry or otherwise."

"Well, the curve in the blade is actually an eastern design." he said, eagerly launching into a subject that he knew quite a bit about, but at the same time, wondering why he was even speaking to her so openly at all. He was a loner and didn't open up to anyone easily, and yet, he found that the words were coming to him as easily as if they had been written for him. "Look at the engravings on the hilt, Sarmation design. The Sarmations lived in what is present day Russia and they were a people enslaved by the Romans after a devastating defeat of their Calvary. They were forced to give the sons of every generation for fifteen years to fight for the Roman Empire. The Sarmation who carried this weapon was from the far Eastern provinces of the country by my guess. The tribes down that way were very much like the ancient Samurai of feudal Japan. They had customs for every battle tactic you can imagine. It was considered a great honor to die in battle, sometimes, favored even higher than returning victorious. Their swords were their most treasured possession, passed down from father to son, even mother to daughter occasionally. Every generation had a story to tell about his sword, and they told them to the next generation to keep their memory alive even after death.

He stopped suddenly when he realized that she was smiling at him. "I'm sorry, I. sure I must be boring you with all this useless knowledge."

"No, it's all right." said the woman, who had really been enjoying it. Even just listening to his voice would probably have made even the most boring subject interesting, or so she thought. "It was actually kind of interesting. How did you learn so much the, what did you call them, Sarmation? I've never heard of them before."

"I do research." was his simple reply, "I can accomplish almost anything when I put my mind to it. There is just something that attracts me about them that attracts me; I've never been able to understand why. It's a hunt sometimes, but I've always found that it was worth it."

A moment of awkward silence elapsed between them. They neither of them knew what to say, but they did not want to leave either. Finally he held out his hand and said, "My name is Trent."

"Isabelle." was her reply, as she accepted the hand.

The flash that came when they touched went not unnoticed by either of them. The two stared questioningly at each other, and for a brief instant a memory that neither had experienced, but which they seemed to instinctively remember, came into their minds: The image of two people, a man and a woman who lived long ago in the far-back mists of a long ago time. Two people who had sworn to love each for eternity, and were now finding in each other a new beginning.

"You'll forgive me," said Trent, his mouth forming the words as if in dream, "if I say that there something about you that seems familiar."

"Almost as though we had met before," said Isabelle, sharing his sense of dreamlike wonder, "maybe we have."

"Previous lifetimes, perhaps." he said, a rare smile coming to his mouth, "Soul mates?"

"Perhaps." she said, returning his smile.

"Than who are we to fight against such things?"

Another moment longer they stared at each other in silence, than Trent said, almost shyly, "This museum is supposed to have an excellent Egyptian exhibit. Would you care to join me?"

"I would love to." said Isabelle, feeling somehow that it was the right thing to do.

The two went off, hardly knowing what had happened between them, but not willing to fight against it. More willing in fact, to embrace it with all their hearts.

But we know what happened, don't we?

It is said that love is timeless and ageless. It can overcome any obstacle or barrier; it can even conquer time. And so it has done again. After a hundred lifetimes, two legendary lovers had found each other again at last, everlasting proof that love which is strong enough will never be truly defeated. Love has won once more and thus the story of Tristan and Isolde comes to a close.

_**"And their story,  
And their journey,  
And the lesson they provide,  
Draw their strength and inspiration,  
From a love that never died."  
**_Every story is a love story  
Aida  
FINIS

* * *

There, you see, it's still a happy ending, you just have to realign your definition of happy ending ever so slightly. A tragic ending would be if one of them had died and the other had lived. Not even I am that mean. By the way, the songs at the beginning and end of this chapter are from the brilliant music "Aida" by Elton John and Tim Rice. The idea of Anaria and Tristran's reincarnations meeting each other after death are also inspired from the musical. I don't believe in reincarnation in real life, but in stories, bring it on.

So, I hope that everyone find this ending satisfactory. But if not, fear not, just because Anaria and Tristran die in one story doesn't mean they can't come back in another one. In the wonderful tradition of fan fiction, where anything is possible and from my own imagination, also a place where anything is possible, comes a brand new story involving all your favorite characters and some new ones that I think you will enjoy it. A Fate Reversed: A King Arthur sequel should be up in the next few weeks. That is something to look forward too.

Lastly, I would just like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It has been a whole lot of fun posting it, and since it was one of my first stories, I am glad that everyone has enjoyed it. Thanks again.

Read and Review!


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